Life is spent in decay,
the unraveling of structures at the mercy of time and space.
It lives on the breeze, in the swamps, and underfoot.
It is the force that thrusts beauty to the undergrowth
Reds, purples, indigos and buttery-yellows–burst upon the iris
Quickly synapses fire to the the brain–
Roots and ryzomes tangled in a subterranean vortex
An elixir to the soul, a visual tonic yielding a floral display.
By nature fed by polarity towards a singularity.
Until the blossoms unravel once more–