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13 February 2008

The Bluet

Of all the flowers, the bluet has
the sweetest name, two syllables
that form on the lips, then fall
with a tiny, raindrop splash
into a suddenly bluer morning.

I offer you mornings like that,
fragrant with tiny blue blossoms–
each with four petals, each with a star
at its heart. I would give you whole fields
of wild perfume if only

you could be mine, if you were not–
like the foolish bluet (also called
Innocence)–always holding your face
to the fickle, careless, fly-by kiss
of the Clouded Sulphur Butterfly.

what a dilemma–the whimsy of a butterfly or the lure of fragrant flowers. i admit–i could be distracted momentarily by the butterfly. but mornings full of scents i love bring peace. i think i’d choose the bluet morning…

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