A Rejection of Stigmata
Modern
poe
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The peony in April sun feels light
Upon its petals. That is shining weight
Unfelt. The pink embraces springtime, slight
As heaviness in holiness, a freight
With heaven’s white-winged touch. The bloom
Does not feel burden from the warmth but spreads
More widely, opening like an angel’s plume
Yet slowly. Other flowers raise their heads
Beside it on the bush. These all consent
To carry sunlight as their privilege, grace
Its essence, opening up its palest scent.
Perfume and hue form floral interface.
A lack of gravity comes into play
In garden borders on this April day.
~ Phillip Whidden