She came from years of stopping for flowers—
the corners, the markets,
the bouquets at the Legion of Honor
that held me longer than I meant to stay.

Late at night, when sleep thinned out,
I began shaping images from memory—
colors I’d photographed a thousand times,
petals I’d studied like quiet lessons.

She isn’t imagined or mythical.
She’s built from everything I kept noticing—
the arrangements that stayed with me,
the blossoms I couldn’t walk past,
the beauty I kept returning to.

She is what all those years of looking became—
a calm, steady keeper of the bloom,
formed from observation, patience,
and the simple act of paying attention.