Tulip Hunting In Central Park

Caught in the mercy of stinging time,
lasers slicing at my finger tips,
they don’t want to gnarl and bend,
sucked into the bone without a single promise!

And what about the pale heart,
sutured, in its dimpled, cage?
Wishing and waiting, hanging on,
teasing fire back into these frozen knuckles,
pulling old threads and missing moments.
Beating time.
These are the constant days--
strong in the root and tipped with new life..

Do you still have that Tuscan Yellow evening?
Gold with peach and morning colors?
I can trade you for a shiny grapple,
tied with dreams and tossed into honeysuckles.