In the ambience of this estival morn
I’d ambled, with eager pleasure,
to a sunlit patch of unshorn greens
cast amid the forested hill
and dewy still from the night just passed,
where capim grass grew as tall as lemon trees
and vines of a floriferous kind had wound themselves
down the length of an overgrown garden path.
Illuminate leafs rolled off the tall Cassia above
falling to the matted floor
like bits of confetti gold.
Though not sultry, the air, warm and humid,
was imbued with a heady bouquet as sweet as honeysuckle,
the ambrosial scent of abundant wild white lilies.
An eurhythmic cadence of mating cicada
undulated afore me and through me
as birds sang gaily of daybreak and
from across the ebulient valley a horseman
who had set his herd to pasture on the mountainside
called in zeal
“Hyuh! Hyuh! Hyuh!”
I leaned into a bramble of esculent berries
where I plucked the ripest-reds,
each one pressed to my palette with my tongue and held
as though I were making memory–
–a confluence of touch and taste
of sight and sound
that would pass as quickly
as it had come.
By Jason Weaver
Author’s Note: Lírios Brancos e Capim (White Lilies and Grass) –2013 by Jason Weaver, an orignal painting, acrylic on canvas
Also: This photo-poetry post has been submitted to dVerse Poet’s Pub, a great place to share poetry! Check it out!