Flowers Are Free

For Felix


Before the drone of wings begins
And dawn becomes a battleground
The Northern winds are tempered
With a sound within a sound.

Our star lounges in patches
Old song of youth is heard again
Threadbare trout escape the river's bowel
To lip the warming air
And taste the falling rain.

Greenery out-greens itself under the gamut of the sun
As we turn once more from darkness
And commence another run.

And here
Amongst these graves there lies a pauper's
Unadorned all year until this time
When yellow flowers weave a mesh to hold my eye
And whisper that my smile is not a mime.