Bluebellsbring upon faith—happy teardropswaiting to beunfurled, tendrilson their stemstill waiting to grow,eager for the beautythat a bell withholds.

All other flowers blurbehind these bells of wisdom,like back in the old housein Roslyn, where we hada mini gardenwith orange tulipsgleamingin the fading moonlightof fertile brown soil,earthy and sweet,and I would foldin my fertilizer beads:green pearlswere what I called themas a child—

each pearl giving riseto its most perfectplant: beingnessfolded inside,all as one,soul in body.