We are wildflowers— scattered wind-sown warm, rich meadows are our homes ice regions of the North sand-washed, sullen hot-breath plains cracks of rocks cheerful cascadings celebrating roots that hold. We are often individually unseen we have beauties known mostly to ourselves. We have learned to live where greenhouse flowers die we who are vapor ourselves From a window of a passing car we are massing all alike an array of force and color covering the world. From where we sit we are each ourselves separate but close opening and closing alone We bring delight with variety tears with the soft yellow dust of our fertility We are opulent, lush, generous gone trusting the rest to integrity of seeds and the faithfulness of tomorrow
Wildflower Season: Poetry by Carolyn Wing Greenlee
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