Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Flush-faced flowers
Of wild agrimony
Smile up from the ground.
My toes grip the earth.

Springtime sunlight
Trickles like rain
Through the leaves.
My skin warms.

Grass blades bend
And whisper
As you pass.
My ears hope you’ll pause.

Small birds dance
Singing their arguments
In the branches.
My eyes blink at sorrow.

Your wine is spilled,
Your place is empty,
Your refusal fresh.
My heart is alone.