There is a time when the dirt darkens my nails
Sage drips across the wind
The poppies didn’t show this year
I mark them tardy
Assume fashionably late
Days tick
The poppies don’t show
I tell myself the colors were raucous
I do not need sunset blooms
The lavender flourishes against the fence
I am breathing fresh earth until it clogs my lungs
I sleep with the mud
My fingers wind around muted palettes
I cradle soft smells
Sing lullabies to birds
The poppies didn’t show this year
I mourn their brightness
