I am advised , invited

to pick up a hyacinth 

join the newly- incomprehensible cacophony  

of blooming blumen 

I wait for rays of sun light to come through 

I will wait for the green tip to yellow  

when yellow is not on the list of colours 

 

it is in the croaking dawn of northern Wales 

and maybe all of it 

staring back at me in the reflection of the window 

buttery shield from the slow and constant onslaught 

of melancholy sky  

 

buttressing ill thoughts,  

reassuring despite the no-show 

of showy frills blues and purples  

take your own time I stroke there are tulips for the meanwhile 

and the woman at the Turkish market says  

leaving them in their paper makes them stronger

and I peel my eyes for paper my size  

 

Tracing delicate folds so the hue does not matter 

what a wonder in my little room top floor of Sonnenallee and  

I shove them up my nose like blowing it in reverse  

I am playing the role of insect  

huffing specks of pollen 

satisfied, we can both curl up 

and wilt in peace  

 

The petals carpet the linoleum  

the bare stigma wand-like 

It is only when the one vase is requisitioned do I have the heart to pick them 

Up one at a time 

 and put them back into the fray