I see the shapeshifting reality bulge
around the illusory hibiscus I could never match.
Veils of words needs constant shattering
to lighten thick, moldy layers of thatch.
My heartbeats come forth, secretly billowing,
burning new myths from a crimson flower.
I can’t help but lose myself, drowning,
reborn in this burgeoning, transformative power.
Staying open is toughest, free falling and bare
naked and hanging, having dropped from the sky.
Then the petaled plate tells me with it’s one eyed glare
to listen and watch, with laser focus, and try
To write these gossamer sheets of implausible power,
wispy, tenuous wings, burgundy eyefuls of red meat.
I tally this time to sit and stare, hour to hour
and find it’s telling me to just sit, watch and be complete.
I wrote this on a challenge to create on the spot from Jessamyn on her post, Sunday Scaffolding.