Audience Of One

The pink rose in the tall blue vase
might be the focal point of all beauty today.

My flaxen self flees into the peace of that softest color.
My heart is the bee that knows nothing of the flower
collecting grains of attention
gently on every fiber,
weaving loving kindness
like pollen on a sunny morning in June.

If I were not so alone
I would be that much closer
to the solitude

of the single stem
resting like a dancer
before her audience
of one.