All while the thirsty grasses dream the day.
Bend toward them. I can hear the tide of green
engorge and stiffen, music in the blood,
lifting sensation past the reach of time,
mingling with the future. Come, let’s turn,
let’s walk indoors and open up the house.
Sunday Sayings: And an extract of Peter Davison’s “Opening up” to pair with this photo of a windflower bud
PoetryPix 