A quartet with Kelly green stalks standing
four feet high draw me off course from my walk
down Beechwood Street and into this sun-ringed
backyard to gaze like awe-struck lover, talk
softly as if wooing delicate blond
beauties posing for my camera, praise
their skin’s silken texture as they respond
by shivering in breeze, each mid-rib braised
brown by some great Chinese artist’s brushstroke
forming wing of a sleeping butterfly.
I lean close, whispering, “If you awoke
now to see me, would you lift to the sky,
carry fertile pollen to her garden,
surprise her with gifts of golden maidens?”
Roger Armbrust
October 9, 2007
