The sunlit palm
of the single poppy
held out a bouquet
of a host of delicate pollen
rising to meet the rays
of light pouring from the sky.
How delicate and frail the hand,
how strong the love that offers
the gift of pollen.
The poppy on the morning touched my heart.
The things ephemeral
are born with the secret knowledge
of perpetuation of their
abundant, transient, beautiful forms
.
And on that morning the poppy spoke,
"I offer you my soul my dear"
and I said,"I would roll out a magic carpet
for your soul to walk with a delicate step
because I have spilled the pollen you gave
all over the road that leads your soul to my heart

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