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Elizabeth
Carmichael-Davis

poppysong 

 

the lack of engines 

the inviting rain 

the comfort of solitude 

the light on the camera 

the dark center of a poppy’s eye 

black and purple 

like a mind in an envelope 

red for good fortune 

mailed at the new year 

received in astonishment 

paper unfolded 

new paths recharted 

their time is so short 

they stand up to the wind 

and wish for cotillions 

hold themselves up 

in front of the sunlight 

so you can see through them 

they broadcast the bright 

inside are not hidden 

their velvet black hearts 

freely exposed 

providing as ever 

the next generation 

historical center 

the map of their future 

a dime for a dozen 

the fields running over 

perfectly copied 

seeds into being 

color for now

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