A Monarch Visits The Junepine
A king - the king of color - has dropped in
to harvest the poetry of lavender
petals on a sweet, damp fir-filled slope
next to our hard plastic table (at the Junepine)
with a view of a mountain ridge
shorn like the bristly head of a new recruit.
The almost visible blur floating
behind His consort's thread-thin orange proboscis
weaves the heavy air into something solid.
Side by side, they dine. We dine.