Oct 15
Sometimes they help with the stories; really, they do.
Even as they’re pure distraction, to rest and pleasure the eyes
for as long as their season lasts,
as long as they are rich and luscious,
and emit from within a plush and regal depth,
every petal sumptuous, every stamen and pistil
glamorous in the infolding fibonacci wound so tight
three dimensions cannot contain their splendor.
Jun 19
walkabout, this afternoon, to find deep red with busy bee,
pale red with kanji characters,
poppy world full of self,
rising from a bed thought lost,
while yellow bush roses,
and blue fingers, which our maidens know by a grosser name,
showing some purple shared, in the same pot
or shared with satiny iridescence
shimmering around a black hole,
in purple waves
and glitter,
while at rows end, marigold companions
and almost a blooming leaf, twinning stacks climb orthogonally towards sun
and a tannish leaf kind of flowerish
all of which have names that are common
and the uncommon names are all scientific
May 25
They’ve got all summer now,
so you’d think
there’s no reason for hurry.
But they’ve each signed up for a very particular window.
Get it up, get it open, let it down, thank you ma’am.
It can be a dirty business,
leave you tired, arrayed in droopy fading splendor.
Unless you claim the ground that holds you, the air you breathe.
Unless you’re lemon balm
or peppermint
then nothing messes with you,
you’re locked on for perpetuity.
