THE POPPY'S SHADOW

Before the light reaches its anguish,
Early in the morning
And the petal becomes
The voice of childhood,
I live your risen and surprised shadow
Of humility, never dark,
With salt and sugar,
With its skyward trill,
Wounded and stirred at ground level.

Beside the mint,
This little nest
That is trembling, caressing
The field, almost
Inside the furrow,
Poppy without smoke,
You with your shadow and no despair
Accompany
My seedless oblivion.
I'm going with you.
You're not alone.