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
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