Thursday, July 17, 2014

Agapanthus

Such promise.  Such magesty.  But for a very short while.   Their dying is longer than their bloom.  I wonder what this has to do with poetry and food.   Perhaps, you are thinking of this, too.  Perhaps, you are preparing an early light lunch (last night's leftovers of grilled peaches & brie).  Perhaps, you just finished emailing a poetry submission.  Perhaps, your cat is dozing.  Perhaps.  Perhaps, not.  And, yet, the agapanthus are withering within view.

1 comment:

  1. The whole person (continued)

    1.
    any call to arms
    only echoes
    of an by the rule
    a county not
    until

    2.
    idyllic loams
    turn
    over
    and find a sadness
    newly born

    appaloosas keep beginning

    3.
    anguish by the sordid
    seaport

    4.
    let me think--
    no flower in that lapel

    5.
    a shell of a person
    and large eyes

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