this epicurean sea of wildflowers and opus
white blossoms stirs beneath the rising day
she spills seminal secrets as the bees and the
winds drive pollen grains and promise past
the velvet parting into stigma and style
with the marksmanship of knowing.
this field, voluminous womb, awash with prose
drinks the sun that climaxes overhead. a rain
of white sapphire upon silken spires that
indemnifies last night’s shower,
and the dandelion memories too much
for me in the wind perish in a panoply of filaments
but here i lie on my earthen bed pregnant
with poetry, the story under stories of the grass,
translating the anatomy of nature’s mystery and
indulge myself upon this, my field of words.