the crisp autumnal rain
is apple-spiced and
lavendered with memories
that warm my morning tea.
This is not a poem
just the scent of one I once renounced.
The one I thought was too morose,
of deep blue, almost indigo.
I’d asked her to be happier.
(a subtle lavender).
I buried her a teary night
I thought my words were lost.
But now she presses up new leaves,
a bit of hope for me to breathe.
The light is dying in the arms of evening —
swooning to his symphony of darkness.
She unravels into lavender
dressed in lilac-pink and lyricism.
Strumming notes across the sky,
he shimmers constellations
to the shape of a guitar.
Their music saturates to night.
I dream in fields of lavender.
All four walls and bedspread.
Everything I’ve ever loved
has scents and tints of lavender.
mixed blue and red.
Through cresting waves
and lulled wind-sways,
my steady blooms still hold.
I love you as I love
a calming thing,
a moving thing,
a singing, feathered garden thing,
Photos taken at the Ali’i Kula Lavender Fields.
Writing and photography by: Katy Claire Funke