Each standing petal
In the ever-growing, ever-giving green pearl butterfly buds on leaves after the snow, in the rose burst through the night-line; the white-black frost-hold about to be painted bloom-bee yellow, in the hop-sing of the dawn birds — a morning wing wake-up pink melody prayer that filters through the forest, sifts into sea bubbles, and rustles into a lullaby to be lifted from water wind, is the always-song. Gaze upon the milk-flower in the pebbles grown one, little one. Listen to thin blush drum of each standing petal. LJ Ireton, 2025