People are wildflowers.
There is a turn in a path, maybe a familiar path in a new season, very brief in time, when the individual specimen suddenly appears, and turns its face your way. And beams. It has to be fully looked at, fully engaged, honestly explored, or it is gone. You have to allow the deepest look without reservation. A response without a calculated ending. That time spins so briefly, and freezes, and passes. And no matter how many others come along, same type, same hat, they will never be this one. That’s the fear and the ecstasy. How to respond in the fear, knowing that ecstasy will return perennial, joy after joy, or it will turn away. It’s a wildflower. No taming. Winning that moment, or not.
My Words. Tied.
My words. Tied.
My eyes. Wide.
My arms are road and writ and finding love and wildness and show and speak.
I adore this.
I adore. The mind the heart and backward speaking.
Keep me bright my lifeblood and height.
My eyes. wide. my words. tied.
If time is taught in ones and twos, then I am threatened and fierce and prudent
Alone and fleeing ticking strings
Industrial notions. Beautiful things.
Four lives meet where younger times are two
with each one’s second a past package presented and viewed
I’m meeting you, with backpack and smile
and apprehended hope, of time. Of mind.
Can I bring you into my own, my future, my past
Or a moment or just a moment, ticking string, combined
the light is fleeting
advantage or not
My eyes. wide. my words. tied
Elaine Diane Taylor
January 24, 2013
Elaine Diane Taylor 