A Sprig of Kamuning

 

 

A sprig of kamuning Grace picks

From our potted garden in the morning

She places on my desk, its wisps of white 

Petals as if just uncurling from sleep. 

I slip its stem into the small mouth 

Of a Mexican jar near my lamp, so I could 

Own it for some moments before it wilts. 

I glance at it as I type—the Aztec leaves 

Swirling under the glaze—its fragrance 

Fills my little office: Probably 

The scent of heaven 

                                 Lingering

From last night’s dream.

 

 

Marne Kilates

13 September 2018; rev. 13 March 2019

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