Jacaranda
I can hear the blossoms
or maybe taste them
before they enter my sight—
the purple vibrates at some
frequency the body
can barely understand.
Only my peripheral vision
can process the color
that glows from the trees--
ultra violet, maybe,
a fine tuned hum,
a shade so tender
it hurts my eyes.
*
Jacaranda flowers smell
like honey and piss;
I can't tell whether
the heavy scent
that cloaks the public
library comes
from the abundance
of purple blossoms
in the parking lot,
or from the people
who relieve themselves
against the side
of the building.
*
Each pod
on the jacaranda tree
looks like a beak,
sharply tipped,
from some mean
and leathery bird.
How can such delicate
words float
from these coarse
mouths, so soft
you have to lean
in to hear?
– gayle brandeis