Floating in the light years
The primeval lily of willow woods,
A climber rising from darkened forests,
Ambitious to see the sun, but always yearning shade.
Papery petals in white
With cool smooth touch,
Romantic, aspiring to feel the waxing moon
But shy, scentless, skinny, with appearance of complicity
The doomed bloom
Remained unchanged. An eternity of primitive simplicity.
With its white face softer than light in High Summer duskings
It brings the day’s end with a glowing translucence and backlit canvas.
A screen of shadow play.
Transparent truth and illuminations
Stirring shadows of nearby neighbours,
Infatuated with self, they send an echo of love to stir the stamen’s trust.
But modern branches bend and crack;
Under the subtle watch of the crawling vine
A china sky will fragment between the spinal twists of wood,
As Convolvulus Cneorum imprints its memories of forsaken eons with no regret.