From Australia With Love
by Barbara A. Taylor

 
The Fall and Rise of Citriodora

How I miss your ghostly presence now,
my aching heart is all despair;
those seeds and twigs
that twisted bough,
only I know you once were there.
I weep, you weep -- on some days less,
smelling your whimpers in the breeze,
and humbly beg forgiveness
please.

Where large and dappled branches grope
on lush-green, crumpled garden beds, bruised,
scented leaves lie curled and dead,
embrace our sodden earth
this glorious land of hope?
Yet in decay, your message still
exudes Nature’s perfect glory,
and kooka’s angry calls, so shrill,
make this a sad and happy story.

I see torn limbs sprawled across the lawn,
with saw teeth-marks gashed in sides;
and when stroking years of endless dawns
o’er your silk body, my hands do softly
glide, make tears of serendipity flow,
I am
agog
at grainy fractals in your skin,
where emerging vivid beauty glows,
a simple formula therein
becoming smaller
and smaller
within every shaved single layer

this sea of chaos into order
thus creates, “Goddess’s Thumbprint”
with care.
 


 
 
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