Ira Lightman

(for Donna-Lisa Healy)

Guilt may photoshop
from the tip a flower
but I had to stop.
It’s where she and I were
snoring and the weeds
rose round fake satisfaction.
Her paranoia of perfection
didn’t meet my needs.

May time with you mean
we see the tides of light
through a canopy’s green,
on the tansies’ white;
as a dog trots off leash,
the wood, a temporary
ribcage, is intermittently
clacking blown trees.
Copyright © Ira Lightman 2018

About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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