Eye of the Meadow
Blue-eyed grass my favorite, she said, comes to me through my own blue ones gliding by the heart as it finds its way out into the world that golden wing you see there on the iris when I was a baby my mother I love her she forgot and left me out in the sun without bonnet I couldn’t stop looking the whole caboodle so bright it stayed I love to see them now the sun the flowers the memories everything right here in the flourishing meadow.
