his mother's son

How his eyes crinkle
when he smiles,
the way he gets lost
in a book,
his tender heart,
his hair:
the me in him
I love to see.

If only we gave
only the good.

How the ghosts of
imaginary expectations
haunt him,
the way correction
makes him squirm,
his tender heart,
his fear:
the me in him
I cannot take away.

God help us both.

flower girls

The camellias early bloom
in a rush of pink,
immodest and brash beauties,
all rouge and no blush.

The magnolia holds
her buds like velvet tears
suspended in a slow tableau,
their hour not yet come.

Brazen camellia
browns quick as she pinked,
drops in a heap.

Sweet magnolia
opens clean and snow white
face to the light.

little sparrow

Let me not grow weary
of doing it all wrong,
of needing
grace upon grace
upon grace.

Let my path be dark
and let me stumble,
let my strength fail
and my flesh give way.

Let me be the little sparrow
sold for five pennies,
let me fall and be known
in Your care.

no one naps now

We walk, us four
in the weary
early afternoon,
in the pregnant minutes
before the rain
begins.
We smell the clouds
waiting,
the cherry blossoms
ready for a drink:
I wouldn't turn
one down either.