Sliver of ruby in the emerald grass,
flash of sun— You’ve promised me
the rain’s curtain of beads won’t drown
the flickering wish uttered by the hibiscus;
you’ve sworn the bees in the hive won’t fold
their lemon-colored cards deckle-edged
with sugar. I believe you as I believe
the wind ruffling the orderly hedges,
turning the hapless pair of green
plastic garden pails on their sides.
You teach my heart to set itself
afloat on the skin of the sea,
tiny urn bearing its few remaining
cubes of sweetness. If I am calm,
it’s only because your name thrums
a feathered bruise just under my lips.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.