Torgiano Windowsill

In Torgiano, that small clay pot sits
on the windowsill, stroked by the sigh
of a hand-stitched lace curtain. Strong red
flowers, probably geraniums with a sexier
accent, sprout solidly upward, connected
to soil and straining for sun. The best of us
emulate progress, easily shattered
by one whipping winter wind. Her hands
will sift out the street and a new smooth home
braves the chilly climb.