Saturday, June 2, 2012

Spur of the lark


Spectacularly stubborn.
Staying despite the Blue Ridge wind-jump
and curious moths.


Ink-stained grape-ade
for the one
not drinking.
Drink not.


Larkspur.
Delphinium.
The tall beauty in
shades 
that hurt the eyes.


Beswept potion.
Tempting to
none.
Alpine stablers
grew a-plenty,
the purple fencelines
where whispers told to witches,
another day.

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