I am advised , invited
to pick up a hyacinth
join the newly- incomprehensible cacophony
of blooming blumen
I wait for rays of sun light to come through
I will wait for the green tip to yellow
when yellow is not on the list of colours
it is in the croaking dawn of northern Wales
and maybe all of it
staring back at me in the reflection of the window
buttery shield from the slow and constant onslaught
of melancholy sky
buttressing ill thoughts,
reassuring despite the no-show
of showy frills blues and purples
take your own time I stroke there are tulips for the meanwhile
and the woman at the Turkish market says
leaving them in their paper makes them stronger
and I peel my eyes for paper my size
Tracing delicate folds so the hue does not matter
what a wonder in my little room top floor of Sonnenallee and
I shove them up my nose like blowing it in reverse
I am playing the role of insect
huffing specks of pollen
satisfied, we can both curl up
and wilt in peace
The petals carpet the linoleum
the bare stigma wand-like
It is only when the one vase is requisitioned do I have the heart to pick them
Up one at a time
and put them back into the fray
