G. Z. Kieft

do we write to be read?

would I write without a reader?

discard every thought unsaid

leave the pages on the cedar?

i think of the wildflowers

along a riverbed

expressing themselves in silent hours

exposing their most riveting red

brighter with every torrential shower

just for the chance, a possible viewing

the hope a bee comes along to be fed

and I think maybe that’s all we are doing

writing beautiful things before we are dead

with the hopes of a reader

pollinating the thoughts from our head