All posts tagged: love

pieridae

a couple of cabbage white butterflies rise in spirals around one another, and about the blackberry thickets, which are blossoming, sprawling. the july sky is darkening, it’s promising eventual thunder, the summer sounds of slant strings snapping. but, for now, and before and under all of that, the cat’s speckled eyes are glinting, like hot sunlight, and there are shivering torch-tip petals. the wheat fields are turning a papery yellow.

lemon drop daffodils

enchanted, frightened, in equal measure. eloi, eloi. edges of the wild, evergreens, powerlines. a little too old-fashioned, english girl impractically nostalgic. abalone shells as altar of eros, ink stained fingers planting tomatoes and irises. foxgloves, forget-me-nots, pressed into the pages of heavy books and forgotten forever. feed the hummingbirds before breakfast, they’ll hover about the kitchen window, sing the songs that appear as they wish. mint tea in a mason jar, mountain on my chest. eloi, eloi. march 2019: saturday evening. lemon drop daffodils, saint julian’s day, heavenly protector of wanderers far from home and looking to find safe lodging. old man’s beard, traveller’s joy. english pear scented candles crackle. shadow and glow. earlier this afternoon*, probably the last of this winter’s snow, although it was eleven degrees and i don’t entirely understand how. tonight, though, now, raindrops race one another from the top to the bottom of my apartment windows. lavender’s burning, lilac perfume. a spoonful of elderberry syrup, a two cup teapot, i fall asleep under stars on the ceiling. the next morning, and …

2018

i watched the whole world bloom into colour, one season into another looming lavender skies promised me thunder springtime on the edge of the mountain. then the days, growing softer and slower, one season into another humid evenings and wildflower honey, like sticky-sweet accents, all foreign to me. the last golden sigh of summer, one season into another a slow exhaling september the last of the sunflowers bow their heads. we pierce the darkest days of winter, one season into another holly, mistletoe, frost in the garden then stained glass, then snowdrops, then soon enough spring.