Let me be erigeron and leap
from careless cracks with unexpected pink
among the white, my roots content to drink
from crumbling mortar, fly and cheeky-peep
from hanging baskets six feet up, a cheap
delight in freedom, grinning daisy-kink.
Let me be erigeron,
no more an aspen, roots that cling and steep
themselves in soil, trembling leaves that shrink
from every breeze with whispers on the brink
of terror. Let me laugh where aspens weep:
let me be erigeron.
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.