Never mind they hang their heads
from spring
until December. Time
would pleat if it had tucked-buds
and purple petals like these—
whose scent is ever-slightly minty,
ring almost inaudible to humans. This woman
bends to listen, sniffs the mint
and plucks a stem.
A chipmunk darts across the yard, pauses
at the gothic wall to watch.
Not to be caught in the act, the woman swivels
quick, & trips.
Never mind she tears her purple skirt
& skins her shins.
Campánula, in the language of flowers,
means thanks.
— from Juniper Volume 7, Issue 3