You are only a flower
for the moment
lost.
The bouquet of your skin
still keeps the blush of roses
waiting through the night
to release the scent
of home.
Star-flowered Solomon’s seal
still sparks your forest eyes,
bowing you toward
the certain household
of earth.
Dandelions understand
your yellow words:
your errant friendship
with the wind, your
soul like every weed
come up on its own.
Your heart is still a beating bloom.
Follow your memory of the sun
through fields of forget-me-nots.
Anchor in the light
held in the open palms
of pond lilies–
and locate your place beside
every other bloom
in this world.
