For three nights I lay
seeing poppies burst
their tight green pouches,
nude fuzzy lollipops
so sexy they border on indecent
as their great enveloping mouths flap into life.
like a dream that won’t be still
or a prayer yet unspoken.
Vagrant apparitions circling the locust tree.
They flare wildly out of control
for a single flamboyant week and then float
flatly to the ground.
Bright ancient fans of pale fluttering pink
dime store red
and flagrant orange –
the trees.
Stephanie Moran
Durango
