Against a blue sky, scarlet blossoms,
so lush and heavy on their long stems,
it seemed the bough would break beneath them,
or tip the tall tree forward, yet further, from where it hung,
an umbrella poised for picnickers to the sandy beach below.
Where shells of all shapes and sizes,
bleached by the sun and carried by storms,
were tucked into pockets and held for safekeeping
apart from the water’s edge.
So that on this day,
wrapped in the warmth of an afternoon sun,
I might stare inside their tiny spirals
and disappear into their desert island.
Why Now, Flowers?
1 hour ago