AC Lawrence Poet Free verse

Knight of Flowers

In a dream I was a knight
made of flowers. 

And on my tabard 
where should rest the sigil
of a dead king
or heraldry of an unfeeling 
God,

There is your face. 
Silhouetted by your halo. 

My errantry brings your grace 
to fields afar that have seen
no hands more loving than
the plowman's 
          ,who does the work
           but not in love, 
in hope
in foolish, romantic hope
that such reverence,
such courtly love
could make the plowman see
that there is love to be found
in the work
that there is something holy
in the deed. 

That if I could be all that I am,
could not what he planted?

Because hands like tools planted me,
but it was loving hands that pulled me
from the earth. 

A loving hand that twisted my stems
into arms, 
that I could write these words

that tangled my roots 
into legs, 
that I could see what was beyond my field

that interwove my petals
into beating, bleeding poetry,
that I could shine the love breathed into me

back out.

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