poppies in october

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly-

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Paley and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxide, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.


..author to follow...   ;)




sylvia plath, of course.  ;)