The Orchid Moon and I
The orchid moon and I look in kind
at the dimpled ocean's
aubergine plain, meandering thought's
violet caves. I've lost my way
in the lavender vortex
of a tuberous begonia.
A July storm has passed.
Brackish petrichor lilts with the purr
of surf, now jade in lilac light,
unfolding on mulberry sand,
effervescing at my ankles,
gentle as cat fur.
This full moon buoys
out past merlot bluffs,
reposing on a mauve ribbon
between sea and plum sky;
periwinkle stars beg to spark
beside the aura of a steadfast satellite
that casts the grape of night
in fixed solitude.
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