Plume of purple basil blossoms sewn
in thick silver fog
along sponge earth
dewy aftermath
of a dream, the one I
come out
of the old car body just
to enter my breathing
head into you
to behold the field unfurling
barnacles lobed in the grass
planted like eyes
you see seeing
behind their oval caves
drawn as I am
a child into each halo
of your oiled heart, buds who gape
their tender beaks
shell shed, calling on the juice
of their Creator, laying
a thousand tiny tongues along my cheeks
my buried eyes flooded
with purple so honest it suddenly
becomes clear--a single vein
emerging in the petal’s face, as I
awake
beneath the amber orb crowning
in the Eastern window, trembling rainbows
on its silken limbs
of light, I shift
dreams soft as a drone
drawn with a promise
of seeds now
clung to my face, now my body is
threaded with her
bestowal of obsidian eggs
each one her song
swaddling, as I
awake
deep kneed in winter’s dark expanse
of bone shards plush with leaves, ash
I remember the shed
closet housing bags
of earth enriched with this stuff—
rooting through it with my palm
steadily crumbling an orbit around the trunk
of my Tulsi plant, the sudden honeybee
ascendant to my third story
deck, angel in fur sent from a distant
hive and hovering
its head into each drooping bloom,
revolving as the ribbon
that flicks the Holy
pole, staked in
mud and scraps
of yore— its fuzzing twirl
mapping the hidden wick
between starlight and dirt
I thought hard about how soft
it came, a sigh
in the wind, to taste
the purple nectar whispering
of itself
from the blackened chocolate earth
but robed in pollen, I see now
the flower has a plan.