Thursday, May 31, 2007


Heart of the wood,
this foxglove,
whose softly sensual mouths,
forgiving as dune sand,
are an enchanting choir,
enticing one in,
to the silence,

Where each reveals,
on softest,
purple velum,
abstract patterns,
of dark forms,
haloed in light.

The wood is dark and green,
leaves various and fragrant.
My fur is red, sleek
and smells of life.

I listen,
and with a paw, I reach and touch,
then trot away.


Anonymous Mike said...

Hey John. I like your foxgloves—in a manly sort of way, of course. How's life? Where are you working these days?

8:19 am  

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