Richard of Oz

Grey. I watch dark water stir up dead leaves,
stare as each one in turn flowers, leaves vague
scent of you in emerald juniper. You
were my first glove, large and warm that evening

along The Quay. The Taw flowed black and silver
reflecting street lamps. Each silk breath hung like
illegible monograms. Your goodbye
was a wish for the next twenty six years.

May they be as wonderful as you are,
a spider wrote. Inaccessible you
smiles behind another man’s  photograph.
This too stored somewhere in floral boxes.

Lady’s mantle, Iris, orange blossom,
Salvia—blue, and red chrysanthemum.
Bouquet stems. Left over from other brides.
Dorothy clicks ruby heels and is gone.

© Natalia  Spencer 2016

 

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