TO STEAL AWAY THE PANE
Come, sign, I say, and let me trace
One small pink flower laced in yellow
Poking its head out a great green wash
Of nutrient leaves.
The mother robed in yellow looks
Pale against the window, holding
The Son in robes of red reaching up
To touch His mother's face.
Pale, pale His gaze upon her cheeks
The only pink of both quiescent visages.
The blooms of delicate pink and yellow
On my desk, watched over by the calendar