Sunday, July 14, 2013


I brought home a bouquet of peonies last week,
deep raspberry pink, and I arranged them
in the living room, near the entranceway.
They are bombs exploding with perfume,
positively soporific.

Crossing the room or leaving the house
I feel like Dorothy in her opium field,
I just need to rest awhile.
(Though for some reason the cat is immune.)
Sweet relief, their exotic powers
are drying up now,
so I can wake up.

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