I have a fondness for the simple pea
From tamped upon seed below the hoarfrost,
Its seedleaf poking, soon to be frond,
Humid and sheathed in the early May breeze.
Now lashing tendrils come seeking pollen
And follow a blood red sun into night
When insects die for incandescence
And peepers sing from their glands and gullets.
Pistil and stamen, begetting pulse,
Much like the glistening sweat of a woman
From her lover’s toiling sweet taste,
Make my head swoon with the meaning of it.
Yet I know full well the pea bush will fade
And kneel like a prayer for the fallow spade.
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