pilgrimage
the season’s pretty much over, they say
you’ve missed the best of them
undaunted ever hopeful we head south past
the milk factories unclotting the cream, belching
fresh-baked clouds into the sky
over wasted rivers bone-bleached in their stony beds
taking our turn to shimmy over single strands of bridge
spitting cherrystones out the window
counting miles and singing off-key
they won’t be much good now, they say
you should have come last week
still we drive deeper south following
the ribbon road along the ocean that
stares back at us with seaglass eyes and
chaws insolently at the edge of the land
through remnant forests whose thousand-year old trees
have forgotten more stories than were ever written
on the paper their friends were pulped into
there won’t be many left, she says
handing us the keys to bed and bath
you’ve missed the best of them as she proffers ice
but in the morning we find them, a sunset sea
of beauty, warm and fragrant in the summer sunshine
buds and flowers, seeds and stamens falling over each other
strewing petals at our feet as we in turn kneel to
breathe in deeply, caress and marvel
at the wonder that is paeonie.
