I hope there’s flowers in her hair
a wild wind mingling with root and rose
laughter in her voice from sun on her nose.
I hope she takes those little petals
places them down as silken white bookmarks
in those poetry books we read when apart.
I hope she’s somewhere out there now
tracing the tender trenches of her pillow
left void and open by an equally broke heart.
I hope she finds me
or maybe she won’t,
but all the same…
I hope there’s flowers in her hair.