On a mountain
I found a flower,
soaked in the fog,
laying bare
to the gelid peak’s wind
pretty, yet lonely
so lonely
or
was it?
I wanted to ask.
It belonged
floors below,
to the shed of a tree,
and soil
less rocky.
Grass crew, fellow buds
and the band of the bugs
So I asked, it looked back,
my judgement turned
wrong in a blink
and I smiled
The flower
didn't need
others around
to not be alone
Because it grew
in this world