In your life’s travel
you may find yourself
moving
through a garden of wildflowers.

You will not have to look for me;
you will notice me
~ waving to you
~ in a cool moist breeze
~ fanning you
~ with glorious coloured petals —
~ splays of brilliant bold feathers
in a joyful skip that boasts my splendour
~ in my pick and follow-me mating dance—
~ one that you will remember
like
~ your first love,
~ your first kiss,
~ your first heart-racing moment
as your breath is caught
with that jaw-dropping sense of beauty
which moistens your eyes,
in blood-surging wonder.

Years later,
you swallow that same lump in your throat,
as your recalled journey summons my image
triggered by those entries in your euphoric journal
used to describe your sweetest life bouquets.

You will not have to revive memories of me;
you will remember me
for I am an etching
carved and placed
in your primary
pleasant memory spaces
ghostlike
haunting
each breath of air
you breathe.

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