The indigo flowers

The petite blue flames
that ignite my mornings
in tangerine autumn

Only paces away
from the rusted milestone
you'll find them

Indigo petals trembling
in a murmuring breeze
like day-break butterflies

I recite to them the poems
of my evening-years

And their bobbing heads
instill in me a certainty

that I keep returning
to these misty hours

As an apparition
or a curtain of rain

Or as one blue bud
longing to free itself
from its own enwrapping
sheath