at the edge of the grass
colors
wake up yellow
who knows maybe they’re just
(f i r e t r e e f e r n t r e e)
scattered flowers, flowers
(f i r e t r e e f e r n t r e e)
by the algae in the resevoir
(f i r e t r e e f e r n t r e e)
or an avenue of sun
a dawnbeam
defying itself
(alone)
f i r e t r e e
p e t a l s
Vianna Baptista, Josely. "Inner Coast." Translated by Rebecca Kosick