Bruce Willard poem: February 13th

 FEBRUARY 13TH

Ribboned to a stoplight post
on Highway 50 in bay-less Bayfield, Colorado, a bouquet of red roses

wrapped in small green leaves,
so arresting, so close
I half-imagined they were for me. Me,

solo, traveling through open country, that one becoming three –
lover, loved and one

for whom touch is witness –
gathered at the only light
between and Durango and Chimney Rock.

Someone must have known the color would have me stop
60 seconds, that moment

of forever, green turning momentarily to red
then back to green again.

                                                   ---Bruce Willard

See his Couple. Also Great Plains.