Wild Poppies

And how do you survive? Your long throat, your red-rag-to-a-bull head? You rise heavy in the night, stars drinking from your poppy neck. Your henna silks serenade me under the breadth of the Pyrenees. You move like an opera, open like sea anemones. You are earth’s first blood. How the birds love you, I envy your lipstick dress. You are urgent as airmail, animal red, Ash Wednesday crosses tattooed on your head. Your butterfly breath releases your scents, your secrets, bees blackening your mouth as your dirty red laundry all hangs out.