On a cold day, with the wind blowing, this poem might seem out of season, but longing for something is a year-round thing, I think.
I wrote this poem a very long time ago, prompted by a glance at a neighbor’s window.
Pink geranium in the window
leaves and blossoms turn to the sun
strain for the light outside
press into the pane of glass
I wonder the window doesn’t shatter
That geranium’s almost in the garden