A passing petal’s passion
blooms a grassland in me;
today tiredness toes point
to the point where sky disappears,
and the field begins.
the fragment of a flower unknown,
imagine the fragrance, and
the cushion nowhere may lay
beneath one’s free-falling behind.
I blink, and the kitchen pane
lives to fulfill its prophecy and pain,
and the room darkens; something
incites slumber, and some things
leave me wide awake, lethargic
to switching on the lights.
The morgue like cold of the scullery slab
supports my elbow. Close the eyes – I instruct
my lids – see a rainbow, albeit I keep watching
the patterns the petal has thatched,
the path now obscure birds take, and they all
look one, tiredness in flesh, flying to evanescence.
Illustration Nick Victor