Purpled, the blossoms swell
through the slatted puzzle of the window pane.
Supine, I watch their blooms contained
as if in separate glass paintings,
squared pinks and plums
the white outstretched petals
reaching for heaven.
If only
we could open
like that, unashamed
audacious blossoms
unfurling their layers like pages,
open palms facing the sun.
Fleeting petals, they revel
in their ephemeral days, fearless
of the coming frost.
Soon winter’s hush
will silence them to sleep. Tight
buds closed and waiting,
they’ll dream up
some memory of spring,
rocks of fat color swelling like berries,
bleeding into new beginnings,
blooming at the root.
Comentarios