Ghost Orchid Poem by Barry Middleton

A few miles south of Eden,
I wandered the primordial garden
in the land of Confederate Trillium,
the now endangered bloom
that flourished in my youth
in the open understory of paradise.
The flora was pre-historic,
singular stands of bamboo
crowded the creek banks.
The riot of the May Apple in Spring
was an intoxicant.
Sovereign fern and mossy streams
were paths to prospects
of grander revelation.
Cocooned silken secrets
in alabaster wrap
waited for the light
while benign serpents mimicked
the ripples of the branch
before the fall of the seasons;
and more remote near Panther Creek
some said the wild cat still patrolled.

Now in age I seek a stranger species,
more elusive than dying memories.
Florida called me south like a Siren's song
and lately dreams command to travel farther,
the Everglades,
the Fakahatchee Strand,
for there the final secret lies.
Beyond all epiphytes,
bromeliads,
royal palms and cypress,
beyond the tannic waters,
the Ghost Orchid is in hiding
but to the less persistent than I.
It is said the wanderer will come upon it,
floating before his eyes ghostlike.
Nearby protectors watch,
necessity of Pond Apple and Pop Ash,
where fixed
by camouflaged roots
the orchid takes its nourishment.
And somewhere in the swamp,
in passion's dance,
the Giant Sphinx Moth searches
for a flash of candent light,
seeks the morning scent of apples.
A panther cries; the indigo snake waits.