The Perfect Air

For more than seven decades
I have drawn into my body
the perfect air.
Today I taste it!
Spring messages come to my tongue.
Something delicate
flowers the air like hope.

From a mighty jacaranda tree
one small blossom
captures me.
I could be no happier
if I were a bee, one of the hundreds,
crawling along the lawn
and licking fallen nectar.

I trace the shape of a purple bloom
with my eye,
with my finger,
with my pen.
I drink to drunken excess
the shades of lavender and mauve.

I look and look
and gladly cannot find
the end of perfection.
When blossoms caress my shoulders
with a touch as light as music,
I laugh in elder abandon
to welcome their blessing.

Let the purple jacaranda blossoms fall
to the carpet of thick green grass,
and on my lap,
while I eat the perfect air.

©Susa Silvermarie 2021

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