You told the field on the flowers but
it already knew. Loss wakes you up
again. A barefoot city. A worksite
where you had no business.
A pillow where you had no sleep.
That a peony stem can sustain the weight
of its bright head helps you fathom
the addition of this latest wound
psychically blooming. There’s food
to think about. There are chickpeas
and turmeric. Black pepper and never
not salt. Look at your mind go.
A lone skier on a mountainside
cutting up the snow like a newspaper
for papier-mâché for a lantern
you never light up. Worse things.
Gather the little children of your thoughts
and get on your rocker. Get back
on. That can be the story for today.