Fresh meadow geums populate a page

With curiosity leaving space to write.

To write open fields. To write cosmos

In among glorious geums, their luminosity

Percolated in this messy storeroom of a mind.

Dotted the Drakensberg drive perhaps,

Around the goats tinkling their bells

To the oracle in Delphi? I sat once

With mountain flowers whatever they were

And it is the mountain top I write.

The quiet. Flower whispers. Breeze

Creases in wild grasses. Distant life.

They can be yellow geums.

A memory waving in a pot outside

My frontdoor.


Copyrighted by the author




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