every day he wants to paint the flowers

in morning he will seem to get it right

there are so many blooms of alsto-meria

which once grew only on columbias hills

~

so many spikes on the face of a giant aster

all nothing like your beautiful face at dusk

when your blues start to dapple the surfaces

and background ferns that do not catch the light

the baby's breath begins to chant its way open

~

so day and day he comes to this arrangement

while i arrange my face when no one looks

the big blooms like the arms of a giant plum

as daisys burst the way that daisys do

still every flower moves from day to day

~

the emphasis began to be on loss

as he tore at the canvas where he could not

capture that to which he once aspired

as her beautiful face grew from cobalt blue to grey

as her profile turned to shadows of the night

as her head began to bow with grays of sorrow

and the kingfishers cry began to mimic the loon

~

once sheved you true as the day was young

when you asked her pirhana swam in the crick

and he said only bullfrogs one can hear

the days before the alsto-meria bloomed

and the queen annes lace could be placed

in a jar of colored water and take on that glow

so sky blue flowers dotted our arrangement

and our bodies were strong for water flowed

~

but always flowers change from day to day

to capture them forever would be a lie

the filaments of honesty contain sorrow

as dinosaurs of hopes fall off the loom

and paper dragons go the way they will

how possible it all seemed then

he watches water dripping still

and sings






















every day he wants to paint the flowers

in morning he will seem to get it right

there are so many blooms of alsto-meria

which once grew only on columbias hills

~

so many spikes on the face of a giant aster

all nothing like your beautiful face at dusk

when your blues start to dapple the surfaces

and background ferns that do not catch the light

the baby's breath begins to chant its way open

~

so day and day he comes to this arrangement

while i arrange my face when no one looks

the big blooms like the arms of a giant plum

as daisys burst the way that daisys do

still every flower moves from day to day

~

the emphasis began to be on loss

as he tore at the canvas where he could not

capture that to which he once aspired

as her beautiful face grew from cobalt blue to grey

as her profile turned to shadows of the night

as her head began to bow with grays of sorrow

and the kingfishers cry began to mimic the loon

~

once sheved you true as the day was young

when you asked her pirhana swam in the crick

and he said only bullfrogs one can hear

the days before the alsto-meria bloomed

and the queen annes lace could be placed

in a jar of colored water and take on that glow

so sky blue flowers dotted our arrangement

and our bodies were strong for water flowed

~

but always flowers change from day to day

to capture them forever would be a lie

the filaments of honesty contain sorrow

as dinosaurs of hopes fall off the loom

and paper dragons go the way they will

how possible it all

05/26/2014

Posted on 05/27/2014
Copyright © 2025 Gail Wolper