Larkspur by John Grey

The larkspur,
purple and pink,
grows slowly
and in one direction,
toward the warmth and light.

It takes sustenance
from the ground beneath,
and yesterday’s raindrops
that are still making their way
down the stem.

Plucked,
it would be
stuck in a vase
in a dull room,
fading away.

Out here,
I can say,
“How lovely”
and mean it.

Inside,
from experience,
I’d be talking
in the past tense.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Washington Square Review and Floyd County Moonshine. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings.