I wake. The sky is clear blue above the rooftops whose shadows the sun sharpens on the grass. Dew on bare toes, the limb-caressing air, my garden breathes, waits, breathes for you these flowers . . . I gather them against my ******* and lay them flat on a cold slab, cut, then grasp their stems as one: to place in the red flower vase
This is the first of six poems written for Pleasing Myself, a cycle of six songs for soprano and piano after the textile images of Janet Bolton.