A Marsh Marigold In The Spring Poem by Mark Heathcote

The seasonal woods and fields
Are mercurial at best
And when the waters are engrailed
On a breath taxingly still by bequest.

Your reflection is an icon.
A marsh marigold in the spring
Oh, how I wish I could sing
Your beauty into a firestorm,

Into living flesh and bone
And burn my hands, my fingers
Oh, how I wish I could comb
Your golden hair in all its layers.

And be fused like ochre lichen
On a gravestone in mixtures
That tells of how I loved you
How you were a flower an elixir?

How the scallop sundial
Opened, pointing its arrow
And found to it's dovetail
Mark a heart, a love fired in salvo.