Friday’s Poem: Into Kingdom of Flowers

(Thoughts as Skyler Journeys to the Beyond)

What grief have flowers? They live in ecstasy.

Every curve and angle, design and hue

is cast upward from dirt and granted freedom.

I with scant wisdom am humbled.

What can they offer in harrowing times as

wounds of our hearts threaten to

undo even sutures of hope?

You have known that tearing. But I say

the flowers shine forth. They create a music in color.

They grace the gloom with a waltz of unfolding.

They wrap our spirits in a field of goodness and plenty.

Bees find their way there; you see they know the honor.

I have walked among these, their rainbowed

blooms caressing my skin as if they know

such moments have kept me alive.

The slanting light limning wild grasses.

A wind that rattle-dazzles leaves.

Scents of secret life rising at daybreak

and lingering beyond the blue hour.

The flowers, though all exposed beauty, are not afraid.

How much innocence can a person lose

and yet be tugged back by a single petal

that offers itself to eye and nose?

This velvety part, that stem and leaf–

such medicine that I am brought to my senses,

conduits to pulsing numinosity of God.

One day for us all, you know, it

comes down to deep simplicity:

rain or moonlight, root or stone,

feather or beetle or cloud,

a palm cupping sun’s heat–

then circuitous breath, our very breath

seeps out to join the river’s.

And when it is over and discussed

the vivacity of life keeps company

with more under arches of trees.

When I leave, I want what is left

covered with wild flowers and gossamer light.

Transformation leaves what counts,

disperses what does not.

It comes down to usefulness.

And reverence.

Wonderment has carried me to this

and someday, farther.

Here it has all been said and done for you;

you found shock of love, of strife, inertia.

Made of it more, and less.

But this moment between times as we wait,

the gathered blossoms grant entry

to their kingdom’s favor,

to brazen and elegant and rare delights

where tears like dewdrops are silent,

sweet or not, but welcome.

I will look for you there.

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