of the vast good-bye --
indigo adaptation of night,
stealing the sun
to roar like a daisy
across the zig-zag sky --
Phaeton gone awry,
burning, stout-stemmed sapling,
thorn in the story of grasses:
sketch your tawdry meadow.
Twist your tawny, ivied arms;
shun the cloistered shadows.
Burn the skies with your strong fire.
Leave me blind and reeling.
Leave me smelling sulphur in the night.
Sometimes, even I don't know where they come from! (And, yes, I know I ended that sentence with a preposition and began this one with "and.")
I saw the Pre-Raphaelites at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, this week; Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads suggested some of these botanical words and phrases, and Poets United asked that we write about "woman" for International Women's Day. It all came together as this! Voila! Who knows?
