Can you remember us lying, a negotiated touch apart,
our naked feet pointing at the near ocean, softened by
the rough grazing beneath, its outrageous deck of greens?
Pinprick flowers surrounded us the way stars fill a sky,
softly flooding the space between the dandelions and
their greedy taproots, mining the precious seams of earth.
You named them for me, like an explorer would, or a god,
comfortable with the authority, and when I looked closer,
each one was just that – yellow eye with snowflake-lashes,
staring curiously out, waiting to see what might happen next.
Robert Ford’s poetry has appeared in a number of print and online publications, including The Interpreter’s House, Brittle Star, Butcher’s Dog and San Pedro River Review. He is a member of The Brewery Poets in Kendal, England. More of his work can be found at https://wezzlehead.wordpress.com.