More like a garden
than a flower
… the withering and blossoming at once,
red fruit still green underneath,
deep purple falling off the branch
or pecked by those who need it.
The fertilizer smells,
supports the hidden bulbs,
feeds the brilliant lilies worshipping the sky.
Weeds choke the upward thrust,
or maybe they’re exuberant survivors,
tenacious and grateful travellers
expanding their zone of safety.
No linear time,
decay is here;
brown dry stalks
whisper to fresh green,
pods burst with full abundance,
seeds fall and feed and grow
or die to nourish soil.
There are no useless flowers,
each petal changing shape,
a supple moist reflection of pure light,
creating a symphony of colour.