The edges of mind unfurl and deepen,
and up springs a fountain with three tiers.
On each tier trembles a little poem
catching the light.
A girl comes and reaches up
to capture one of the buoyant poems.
Peeling back the wrapper,
she fills her hands with a blue poppy,
and sets it to float in the fountain.
She pursues the blossom into the ripples.
It bleeds indigo trails
that stain the child’s legs and skirt.
The poem on the tier above her trembles,
as if with laughter,
and pollen sifts down
to speckle the girl’s shoulder
like a pheasant’s egg.
She looks up,
through delicious spray,
to where the topmost poem
begins to dissolve like rice paper.
The water furls back on itself,
and the poem slips down a watery throat,
leaving only nectar guides.