Magazine April 22, 2019, Issue

Valentino

(Mike Blake/Reuters)

Against the Eden green and the densities of the avocados,
high and impenetrable as planets, against a blue like Cádiz,
in the uninflected coast light and the light violet
haze of their fellow June recruits, jacaranda blooms lit
on falling branches of air. One or two a minute,
as if they were receiving diplomas. Because the prevailing
westerlies were quiet (it was no day for sailing),
the blossoms fell as obediently as shadows or rain
and formed a purple picture of the tree on the lawn.
Bees with the coloring of tigers seen through train
windows pawed the soft Victorian bells. I lay on the grass
and the grass carried me,

Rex Wilder is the author of Open Late: New and Collected Poems (Chatwin Books), and Boomerangs in the Living Room and Waking Bodies (both Red Hen Press).

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Readers write in on Patrick T. Brown’s essay on parenting and Jack Fowler’s piece on Mark Janus.

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