Midsummer
I’ll guide you through the gloom
of the lowermost fathom
where the golden flower gathers light
the moment it is seen;
sparks the charge of a lumined heart
from its dormant reality
Loses the rhyme to court opinion
that resists the loop of a beat.
I should make this a garden song
Nature may not know her future hybrids
what signs await
in the warning hues of bright berries:
the conspicuous guides
the subtle guides
pick their sides
