& spoiling sun for pleasure,
bees tap-dance their purple-footed sighs
in pageants exhaling up past magenta;
one large stalk leap that flat floats on
the green trampoline, taught as new leaf.
& losing all their growing pains,
the ‘Fuzz’, recalling a child’s nickname,
bounce back in switch-bladed ripples
of odd applause. Unconscious of
loss and lack of Spring,
plum rashes, no longer stung on indigo light.
They soft flex through armour-plaited petals.
& rediscovering, that to nurture is a martial art,
we may all learn again, that waiting on the patio edge
by lavender, is to waltz your bruises past violet.
Header Image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.