A Marsh Marigold In The Spring

The seasonal woods and fields Are mercurial at best And when the waters are engrailed On a breath taxingly still by bequest. Your reflection is an icon. A marsh marigold in the spring Oh, how I wish I could sing Your beauty into a firestorm, Into living flesh and bone And burn my hands, my fingers Oh, how I wish I could comb Your golden hair in all its layers. And be fused like ochre lichen On a gravestone in mixtures That tells of how I loved you How you were a flower an elixir? How the scallop sundial Opened, pointing its arrow And found to it's dovetail Mark a heart, a love fired in salvo.