By Christos Floratos
By the rocking chair,
Birds and wrinkles have brought her.
By the river,
Lilies grow and summer shimmers on top.
Her eyes are washed with cerulean;
Of the stream and the moss afloat,
Of hybrids of delphinium, iris and hydrangeas,
Of afore her eyes, the girl’s yellow dress and the sky above.
The girl runs through the grassy field ahead.
Unchained she is a madman. The poor insect she tramples.
Yet in excitement she goes and goes, and doesn’t stop, oh no.
Where does the horizon end she ponders?
Her smile turns to ploughshares; the girl runs off.
At every glance from the girl, she can’t help but turn aside.
She has a bouquet prepared for the girl, with a card
“Go and go, before the horizon is met!”
Adjacent the girl, was the river.
Her feet drifted to the side, parallels were an expectation.
She got lost in the grass, high as her.
No false mower to cut her down, a maze she’ll burn.
When her feet are oiled again,
And her gears tune in motion,
Perhaps she will follow the girl
And maybe the flowers won’t rot in her hands.
Up, up, titanic like the Southern Cross.
The girl is fading into the grass, skipping to the rhythm of her soles.
A smile is broken for her, vaguely.
Run into the sun that sets, swallow the light.
Savour the warmth, for winter is expected to come.
To that horizon where she presumes the girl wondered,
She places the bundle, arranged full of bulbous colours.
The rivers ran off, cowering from this line.
She lets the weeds catch her, so she can watch.
There as it dried out, she stares just to watch the flowers die.
© Christos Floratos 2019