Gesture Of Irises

He wraps anger
in the silence of white
paper and coiled
ribbons of insecurity,

then builds limestone
steps, asks if she wants
irises to transplant
or will she let them rot.

In the hot sun she plants
wilted promises along
the steps. A light on her
knee, the dragonfly folds

onyx wings in prayer.
Hope is the purple of cold
creek water, next June
there must be irises.