A Penny Violet

A speck of the wild
Flowers that work
To be humble
And attract bumblebees

Sleeps on my knee
In a clangorous dream,
Somewhere far
From meadow stars.

A penny, a violet,
A veil that hides worlds
Of its own within
Its summery, thin

Blue and felt petals
Brushed by our fluttering
Eyelashes, dust, centuries.
Flowers are mysteries

Good as any
Of the running strawberry
Galaxies, pin and pinwheeled lights
That clearer nights

Tend to smooth out over
Whatever is under their rumpled
Black cotton picnic blankets.
I'm here, but I thank it.