I sow a prayer
On the sunrise hills
Where the iron sky is cold and dark.
I sow a promise
And watch my caged-in longing
Burst into vivid bloom –
A wildly disheveled dandelion
On the hard and empty fields
Of the eastern morning light.


The months of grace

Spring is short and transitory
Like girlhood softly awakening
To womanhood.
It marks the beginning
Of the months of grace
When adversity turns to wisdom
And shady spots to
Flower glades.