you looked up

to see the evening sky

with all its colours --

hard to put into words

even

for a great nature poet

Maybe a poet was indeed

Looking up

thinking

minting the best word

to capture the chaotic riot

of blues, reds, yellows, purples

of a little bit of everything

the heart - reflected directly

onto the sky

Maybe the poet did find

the perfect word

but before writing it down

slipped and fell

into a ditch

while

the eyes were glued to the sky

Maybe the perfect word

Was thus lost

as the poet faded

disintegrated piece by piece

Broken rhymes

ruined alliterations

absorbed

into the Earth right here

Maybe

that is where

these wild flowers

get their colours from

- July 2026