For Burma

They stand together

Floating rows of tawny blossoms.

A low hum, like a gathering storm, bends the wind,

They do not break.

Dark clouds release torrents of lead-heavy heat,

Pearls of red rain dot golden petals, and 

Sink gently into pools of refulgent, crystal brightness,

Creeping vines climb and twist around tree necks, which

Slowly slump amoungst jags of roses and marigolds.

by Marie Jones

Austin, Texas