Like Flowers Pressed

All the courage

that we lack

stare at us

as we stare back.

All the days,

all the days

like flowers pressed

upon a page.

I dance on a cloud

of timelessness.

And all the days,

all the days

like shape shifting

colors

on a page.

All the hues

of blue and green

and all the colors

in between.

Of loss, of gain,

and loss again.

All the actions

we did not take

of  syncronicity

of random fate.

The narrow roads,

tall buildings, walks alone.

wearing the dust

in hair,

on clothes.

Days are brief,

we wish for home.

And all the days,

all the days

like flowers folded

on a page.

Kathleen Keena

Feb 3, 2024