Poem: Poppy

 

Poppy

 

species

come and go without a tomb,

tracking cordilleras

which shrink into puny moraines.

 

supernovas paint millennia of sky,

and yet bullets from outer space,

meteoric in their brief blazing bright,

never silence the planet’s breath.

 

and a single poppy,

 

eager orange-yellow globe,

eye of molten dinosaurs,

it opens sometimes, for a moment, 

to guzzle down millions of gone years--

 

years frozen for the ages and gone,

even though they burn from a friction of eons

for the poppy.

 

millions of years, yes,

compressed into a brilliant fresh moment of sight.

and then they simply explode, so fast,

into a bloom.

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7/18/24