it’s amazing how few people
draw flowers correctly – see
the fractal emerge from the page,
sentient and postured

a few delicate strokes as needed
to render the chlorophyl,
pistil and stamen

I watch carefully how form inverts
along the optic nerve to become
a weight of the heart, life between two pages

a boutonniere where the mind was,
mandala for a dollar, a dozen for ten

the rose and the baby’s breath,
sky-blue mums amid perfectly serrated evergreen leaves
dabbing crisp stems in cold water

sunlight on pink petals surpassed
only by sunlight on wood

I am defined by the curlicue,
the cowlick of life atop freckled smiles,
where water and earth combine to push
all of the lush seed wide open

to emerge and say hello to
this day of days

Chagall 2019

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