MAN IN THE GARDEN
Languishing
for a lone sprout,
A man desperately
presses nasturtium seeds
into the earth,
as he sprawls in
his garden pea patch
Feeling more alive–
his fingers touch
the tip of a jonquil`s leaf
Dark, glossy curls in his eyes
his head rests on his other arm
Veins under his pale skin
beating life-
like the vines of persistent mint
which he is crushing
in his recumbent desperation
oblivious–
to the mud beneath him,
beseeching March`s
parting clouds
for blossoms and buds
Defiant kale plants applaud him
replete with arches of butter florets
up and out
at the end of a winter season
yellow respite
preview of coming blooms
*****************************
BRIEF TRIP
A cool wind wrapped around me twice
Pulled me softly from my blues
Lifted me to skyline heights
And then returned me to my shoes
*****************************
IN THE MOMENT
Cast like a net of diamonds,
stars hung,
legion.
A constellation,
tiara on the head of night.
Sky of silky natural-
jet blackness.
Loosely woven sheaths of air.
Firefly highlights,
under
the full orb,
butter moon.
Owls,
upon unmoving branches,
the “whooo”–
cooing,
waiting.
The air, the wind,
tepid like forgotten bathwater,
fluid, ink darkness,
flowed round me like velvet drapes.
And in my saturation
of this other earthly moment,
I closed my eyes, and dreamt,
of no other time.
by Sara Mossma