thoughts turn to steam
as the spring frost on grass
under a noonday sun

but do a deliberate search
for the dense blue forget-me-not
reminds of the royal presence
see the ten-thousand suns staring up
from the grass-

hazard the pollen gatherer's angry buzz,
and pick one
the scent powders your nose
with sun paint
piercing as a lion's tooth
the bouquet of our beginnings

cracks us up with
a child's laughter, prancing
& roaring our senses clear,
for the kid
remains
in you











5.0