Counting On Time Has Its Own Challenges

A face of purple flowers bloomed at quick once
from a petaled bower confessionally esoteric
with buds surprisingly glas and gorm in season.

Not many choices but the haute septime attempt
when the mosquito bites your cheek so piquantly
and the best laid plans are south abandoned now
to a sanguine reposition of racing red corpuscles-

When I ascended into heaven I descended into hell,
the reality of every living creature plus one and you
spins in blossoms and fortuitous bites ground earthly
like trying to explain a silver mirror to a blind person.

The pattern yesterday was maniacs in courtesy cars,
tomorrow it will be something else that faintly mars:

today the blossoms drifted up like snow.