1 August 2021

By Philip Kuepper

I have just dead-headed a marigold.
And, opening its pod, its slender seeds
fall, littering
the page of my notebook.

Each seed appears
the most slender of oars
used to row each flower
to bloom, to blossom,

each petal radiating
from a common center,
each petal like a boat departing
from a central point,
each petal stamped
with its oarsman’s design,
Nature’s imprint left behind.

Each time one sets out to row,
the rower is a flower
in a state of bloom,
the act of rowing, a blossoming,
until, opened, fully,
Ah!, the flowering!

(17 July 2021)