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Feeling slightly sinful, since the star magnolias now blooming

belong to unknown neighbors, fallen and fading blossoms


littering their lawns, awaiting lawn crews

with their noisy leaf blowers, not silent rakes,

as the neighborhood seems to need pristine appearances.


I start my mornings with this on my mind

and later wish for forbidden midnight forays

knife in hand, for just a branch or two

or three, all so temporary and tempting.


Through these old white lace curtains, I feel ridiculously

wrong, just in the wanting, although my soul

sings, sighs, and shouts with clarity, knowing

my desire to steal magnolias would only be

to give them away.


Would you perhaps, for love, not have

the same torn wanting?

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