O breathing riot of petal and pulse,
festival of the unfastened green—
I kneel where the root-thoughts murmur,
where sap ascends like whispered fire
through the hollow bones of spring.
Flora, keeper of the soft uprising,
veil-weaver of tendril and thorn,
your laughter spills in chromatic tongues—
vermillion hymn, violet psalm,
the gold delirium of pollen-dust dreams.
Unbind the wintered knots within my marrow,
where frost has written its quiet prohibitions.
Call forth the animal of bloom in me—
the reckless unfurling,
the sacred disobedience of seed-splitting.
I offer breath to the unseen parliament:
to the bees as golden priests of exchange,
to the mycelial oracles threading beneath all certainty,
to the wind that carries names I have forgotten
but my bones still answer.
May my body remember its greening.
Teach me the liturgy of soft things—
how petals fall without grief,
how decay sweetens the soil into promise,
how the unseen drinks from the visible
without dominion, without hunger for ownership.
O festival of wild permission,
where even the hidden desires of the earth
are given voice in color and scent—
consecrate my senses.
Let my sight become nectar-seeking,
my tongue a careful translator of sweetness,
my skin a field where light may root itself.
And if I must break—
let it be like the bud:
a holy rupture,
a necessary undoing
that makes way for radiance.
I walk now as an offering—
a brief flowering among countless others,
no more sovereign than moss,
no less sacred than the turning of leaves toward light.
Flora, bloom within me
as the quiet insistence of life
that no winter has ever conquered.
Amen in pollen.
Amen in green.
