Through the open window,

a bright ray

poised on the precipice

of my brow,

hair by hair,

glides to an eyelash.

It trembles, flutters.

A groan, a sigh,

I sit up, rise out of bed.

 

The garden wakes

to full sun.

Bearded iris sit in dry air

5280 feet above the sea.

Yellow standards thrust high,

jostle each other like yellow umbrellas

over purple falls.

Fuzzy yellow beards offer bees

a landing, an invite to gorge on nectar.