Before the light fully orders your thoughts,
a hue hijacks the day,
first with Mickey’s verdigris eyes
demanding an exit to the garden,
where, among the bougainvillea’s leaves,
camouflaged for chlorophyll,
a mantis prays for prey.
Then to the farmers’ market for
broccoli, asparagus, spinach, avocadoes, and leeks.
Return. In a skillet, the string beans sizzle
in sesame oil with turmeric, garlic, cumin, and onion.
At noon, you uproot a neglected aloe,
transport it, replant it, water it,
and write off your theft
Watching the palms wrestle the wind,
you recall a dream:
In a tiny bedroom, an implacable woman
clothed in emerald foliage
ignites a massive klieg
to illuminate the resolute sleeper.
The sun’s shrinking arc shows
a spectacular flash, and a black-haired youth
deftly smears a tilaka on your forehead.
The dinner guests gather to praise
the tree of life’s natural colors,
but the hostess foresees only earth, and insects, and grasses.
(PS--Happy 2nd, Rewords!)