Poem for May

Mull machinery-Rona MacDonald

The wisps of cloud above
whipped to cappuccino froth
sighing in the endless drink of blue
all human drama dissolves
the sun become our heartbeat
boiling off irksome mirages
stale excess of time and angst

The garden erupts into colour
invention, fronds, stamens, sepals
architecture of a million alien worlds
enacted here as one. All sing and strainMull-Douglas
as does the robin and her mate, ferrying
endless flies and moths into the ivy to feed
the cacophony of new mouths

Onto my page as I write insects drop
life is profligate, ardent, clamouring
effulgent, dare we say almost too much
driven urgently by need and love as am I
by questions such as what queer crop
are human minds required to raise
to serve the sky above.

(photograph by Rona MacDonald)

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