Years ago at the garden
a blue poppy anemone
eyed me with its inky black pupil
and whispered loudly
reaching for me with velvet petals
calling for attention
insisting that I pause
to consider it.
We gazed at one another
for a long while
And then I pulled out my camera
To capture it.
Now some blooms summon me
(some, not all)
and I stop
kneel or lean in
holding steady
waiting for the light to land
and click.
There is holiness
in the face of a flower.
But even the celestial artist
needs affirmation.
