the delicate pink orchids 

that blossom each spring 

cheer the grog of the morning 

march to distances 

far and few 

from your branches. 

The blistering sun’s alchemy 

or the blustery grey

 of the day–alters. 

Drifting and burgeoning, 

transforming and contrasting 

as my moods, 

sometimes filled, lagrimal

of rusted red seed pod, 

feet and fingers of them 

like stultified streams 

of leaking fear frozen 

brown and red in mid drip. 

It’s then that your leaves wither 

at the edges, 

blackened and burned. 

The weather turned for the worse, 

your leaves round hearts 

of butterfly green, 

full and wide bloom. 

But when the winter wears away, 

your flowering bauhinian 

bells and stamen 

reach for my notice 

as I breeze past 

to travels once again 

drawing me from you.

2 Replies to “Bauhinia”

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