Like honeysuckle tendrils
she leans in to him
and he to her
young pliant bodies
long smooth fingers interlaced
heads together, murmuring
like a small stream
over rounded pebbles.
She touches lips to his forehead
and when they shift
slightly apart, her hair
still reaches out to him.



Early photos of Rose show her deep in plantlife, and five decades later, not much has changed. She loves arranging leaves, sticks, stones in ephemeral artworks, or arranging words, often on long walks.