Against a rainstorm and hail, then lightning
which empties every inch of my heart
in a soul of swaying blossoms.
One heavy downpour burst— into rainbows the moment I spill ink.
The storm surge passed— I was a sad airstream veiled in wildflowers.
I dreamed of a hillside splattered with color—
my utopia place, my unknown canvas,
the fallen petals that hide in me.
By Linda J. Wolff www.wolffpoetry.com