Germination

So they go on, doing the deeds,
rolling the ball they tossed
as if it were not obvious
they were following
where their eyes aimed.

Like an animal behind a tree,
they think I don't see,
and I am partly to blame
for this charade,
a willing blindness,
suspension of attention,
inescapably-

there is a stench,
as overturned dirt
insists on being known
thereby making its presence
the heaviest air in the room.

And like the elephant Ganesha,
she leans in, the earth tilts,
her trunk drops
an apple at my feet.

It is my choice
to open mouth
desirous of a tree,
or keep the seeds inside...





Photo credit by safaritravelplus [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Seed crystals like wildflowers

When wandering one warm day
I happened upon a daisy named Violet.

She was sitting quite peacefully
as purples happen to be muted 
when wild.

Quietly she rose,

bending her bulging bodice 
leaning her long neck 
upward toward dawn in dewy

Pink cheeks, pastel and seeking sun

Glistening
naturally, she begged for admiration amid
these murky velvet green ponds

sequenced with shimmered beads

fishing for focus
in a breeze

She
leads and unfurls
her pinched peach sail

To take in the open air,
To swallow this wishful

Baby's breathe blue day 
ahead of the flattened carpet
holding soles atop its rhizome net

keeping us occupied in valleys,

Blades trod on

by ambling and bumbling beings
led with hunger this way, 
by a sense of smell
and finding the forgotten flavor of flora

reasonable, enduring, reminiscent of days

when he loves me 
not 
when she loves me
enough to grow more
meadows made of these 

meandering memories

one settles with bees
and spreads 
happenstance in destiny's place. 





Painting by William Page Atkinson Wells [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.