Each standing petal

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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

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