How peaceful the light at the window rests
on the vibrant fuchsia petals of the orchid
I’ve somehow grew and regrew.
And how heavy its blooms without scent,
that gravity pulls by the weight of the stem
where three more buds appear.
When honestly, all I do is give it ice cubes,
and of course, the light, “that we both love,
don’t we?” and thrive so much in – at the window.