In March I fled to Florida,
one day before spring.
Ohio scattered yellow crocus
about the yard before I left,
and fragile little iris
blue as eyes of sky.
Later by the shore
I dozed and watched
through narrow lids,
galaxies of light
glittering on the water.
Morning glories come to mind,
a weathered fence,
August in Ohio,
a quiet pause in summer.
Was it irony wanting one thing,
needing another?
No ticket to be there.
The book The House of the World has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and is now available on Amazon.