Riot of roadside dame’s rocket, lavender
& white, I am walking my way through June
alongside you, & if I keep it up, move faster
than the snapping turtle in the driveway,
& the pickups on route 30 keep swerving
to avoid me while I shoulder myself against
traffic, I might beat the heat. Damask-violet,
join me at the swimming hole in the oldest
marble quarry in the country. We can watch
boys hurl themselves from sun-warmed ledges.
The folks in cut-offs holding local beer koozies
won’t care that you’re an invasive species.
Sweet rocket, ticks be damned, let’s roll around
on the grass—I’ve pulled my socks high, tucked
my shirt in, coated my body with picaridin,
loved this life as I was able to despite perpetual
distractibility. Attention is just infinite waiting
for long webs of connection—who says we can’t
always be moving? Mother-of-the-evening,
I’ve donned my reflective vest in preparation
for a steamy dusk, a twilight of lymph. Where
are the fire-flies? It’s already late. Night-scented
gilliflower, rogue’s gilliflower, I am not a thrill-seeker;
I promise, this time I’ll be the first one to break it off.
