Held and read like palms,
written in red like psalms,
personalized in position
of coded clusters
Veins of maria
detail in maps, contrails of sap
stuck nectaring in the sun
whose broken plates and scalded edges
curl and unfurl-still
stoic in strength
preserves like
potpourri pieces
Sweet sips of dew
drunken and imbibed by steaming few
white or black; young and new
a bouquet made of today
under another ray that bows
and prays
kneeling and knowing
its character (in) profile
A silhouette caught in line
at the heavy end, pushed out
protruded
where the maker meets me
plucked and parched
licking lips
in salvation
...just a camellia waiting to be
a spot of tea.
Image By Melanurya (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Location Tea Plantation in Southern India.
