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  • Naming the Wildflowers

    You walk along the banks of a reedy river
    where cattails have burst like spent fireworks used at the party
    where you've spent most of your life.
    A piece of driftwood floats on the water.
    You want to pluck it out and keep it,
    but you can't reach it.
    You think about capturing it...
    making a lamp of it,
    but wildflowers whisper,
    they tap at your temple.
    Their colors call to you
    like old friends.
    So many of them,
    but most have no name that you can recall.
    You forget about the driftwood and the lamp
    and all the light that you would have made from it.
    You settle into the task of putting names to all the wildflowers
    so that you always
    their colors.

    Pamela Wilonski
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