i walked

i almost missed you yesterday.  so small & shy, a true wallflower (if there were walls out-of-doors), only your profusion/profession/confession stopped me (the dog as well, but for him, not you, but for me, it was you.)  microscopic blossoms arrayed in a funeral spray (at first) or a wedding bouquet (at last) draped over the elegant arm of (this, someone else’s fantasy.)  the leaves with their scratchy edges & hard surfaces of delicious, edible green (but i didn’t, eat them.)

for you i stopped dead in my tracks (a little puff of gravel dust rose up around my ankles, the pathway as trite as the metaphor.)  where had you been hiding yourself all this time?  i’ve walked this path for years & have never seen you (was i blind to your charms?  are you there just one day of the year?)  look at you!  those pleading pillow lips, the seductive golden throat (a song emanating from it, the melody not a melody, but a long howl of beauty that brought me to my knees in front of you.)  i leaned in closer hoping to smell you, to put my nose on your shoulder, lean my head against your delicate clavicle, but you kept your distance from my bumbling, scuttling movement, allowing a quick photo, & then dismissal “that’s all for now.”

the blossoms spoiled me.  i wait now for nature’s next bit of spectacle, perhaps the moiré ocean will be pulled clean off its table, a magic trick best left for those with more talent than i.


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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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