Psalm 1

Phillip Brown

Have you noticed the geraniums,
lit today?

Yes, Father.

I am amazed
by their intensity, their fervor
as they burn, untouched,
it seems, by the heaviness
of today's clouded sky.

Some haven't bloomed yet,
and the small, green pods
look like the hulls
of tiny ships, sealed
with all their vibrant sails
stowed inside.

They will open soon, I know—
their clasps undone
by the warm finger of summer—
opening easily and quickly
when no one is watching.

They will flutter, like the rest,
in the shifting current
of a breeze, yearning
to be released from
their verdant moorings
and the pale root that anchors
them in the soil—

free, then, to sail the winds.

Their petals are so bright—
each blossom a fistful of fire—
that I can't help but wonder
if they continue after the sun
has gone, glowing softly
along the walkway
in red and crimson,
like Japanese lanterns;
each creating a tiny pool of light
as they float in the darkness,
in that dark sea
of night.

Shalom.