By Lazarus Barnhill
I dreamed I saw you floating in petals, awash
in blossoms—fragrant, tender, damp with dew—
adrift in a river of flowers, by current tossed
and supplely bent, as on flowed succulent you.
And the tumbling and folding of each pale petal made sound,
a song like muted chimes that so softly rang—
a harmony of scent and tone wrapped ‘round
this slowly streaming garden that sweetly sang.
And I, transfixed with awe as you drifted by,
uncanny fell into the flow. Embraced
and buoyed by the undulating blossoms, I reached for you—
your musk the richest, the brightest flower your face.
Awakened by the dream to find still night,
your scent of weeping rose became my light.