Dry Dusky Flowers
How do find the one who moves through life
drawing green from the grass,
blue from the sky,
water from the river and the wind from the heavens?
Where is the one I search for with a child's reaching hand?
One that can be part of my breath
and who holds my heartbeat and the blink of my eyes
in one cool hand.
This one who holds my drifting memories
that keep running away from my mind--
saves them in a little cabinet that smells of tea leaves.
My heart searches the empty spaces where there is dusky dried flowers
and bell jars holding stilled butterflies and small bird's eggs.
All around the little things I collect--bottle caps, rocks, fossils
and bottles with strange design--there is an air of stillness.
There is a quiet in these things that calms me.
Some days I wake gasping from a dream I cannot remember,
my eyes darting to corners of my room
as though there will be something there
which will return that stillness to my quick breaths.
Fear will leave me like a 5 O'clock train,
one that will be returning to my mind--'
it's point of origin--at a time way too early for my liking.
Love is a dance underwater.
It's bittersweet as a shadow of a smile--
one that dives back under at the gaze of your eyes.
This one will find me some foggy morning
when the trees disappear into the gray mist.
Heather Lake
1/13/2022
