Tuesday, June 19, 2012

07-2012

CROCUS



She glides across rooms in my mind

leaving a perfumed trace

a malleable presence of her

unique being speaks to me



Unconsciously I utter her message 

preparing the ground

scattering ripe forms

of organic shape



Words born from clays birthed in earth

fired in volcanic heat

cooled softened tempered

sit gently on the page

or

in air float lovingly.


© MRL 19-06-12