Warmth

I think I have exhausted the previously written poems, both the Poems of Grief from the mid 90's and then also the Poems of Nature from the mid 90's until the early 00's. Now onto the current stuff.

When the foot flattens itself
on firm, packed soil, it melts
and opens to the rays of
solar warmth. Things hold
warmth. Like a rock and
the dirt and a field of daisies.
You can feel it coming off
them. I like getting warmth
from these things. I like
getting warmth from smiling
flowers. They share it
with such love.

Ciao!

+Tom