She gathers her flowers about her
embroidered on black –
the hours of humming fingers
at hoop and loom –
as she walks among the infant lemon
trees, the succulents and
hollyhocks, appraising this and that,
looking beyond
each row as if window-
shopping paradise;
tosses her silken petals
into place – the intricate ordered
layering of garments.
The breeze is her own making.
|