A Larkspur's Dawn Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Let a larkspur
blow into
its trumpet
to raise

a shooting
scotch heather
to touch
as sky's gems,

stars weaving
crystal rings
for fingers stroking
a cheek

carrying rivers
dumped
into phylum's
ditch, a tongue

wiping
off salt drawing
a sea's
belly into a face

in coats
of fossil clouds.

(ii)

The moon
burns brighter
into
a nebula full

of bush
and forest
and grasses

to ignite
a shooting
and
flowing

flame
for a world
of blackbirds
over
a swans

swelling into
dawn's
cream light.

(iii)

Let night
in a dawn's breath
be hurled into

a hollow
of itself, orchids
flashing out

sparks from
a bleaching
nimbus
cloud in specks

amid feathers
of a blackbird
in the nebula.

Let a star
spin the egret
on a pansy

to float
like the flashlight
of butterfly
into
a graphite dawn

not yet ripe
for the sun's crown
of daylight

exploding into
mid-day's bonfire,

when the gold
ball is still
settling
down to its yellow
hibiscus trumpet

to blast off
a brightness from
a comet's
wallowing tail.