3/5/3 form considered “modern” for whatever that is worth…

exhaust fumes
I am stuck behind
concrete truck

a small child
on a bicycle
of his size

as I look toward the flower moon
my heart yearns for that which I know
that which can not last
hope and logic are not bedfellows
and I have a choice with whom to lie
so I beseech you, flower moon
to hear my plea
grant me rights
as I will you the portent to fulfill
bring blooms to night
under pale reflected light
you hold all my eye
and wash away
make me pure again
make me whole again
for winter has lingered far long
within this soul
o’ flower moon