Wildflower

In the field, the May light bends softly,

flowers leaning toward the uncertain sky,

each petal an unspoken word,

a blush of yellow, violet, red.

Here, where the grass whispers secrets,

I think of you, a name not yet familiar,

your face a fresh bloom

among the known wildflowers.

The wind moves through me, a soft touch,

a promise of what might come,

as buds open shyly, reaching for sun

and the touch of morning dew.

I am standing on the edge of knowing,

where excitement is the hum of bees,

the flutter of new wings in the open air,

a dance I haven’t learned but long to follow.

Every colour here is a beginning,

a note in a song of beginnings,

and you, somewhere beyond this horizon,

are the melody I am waiting to hear.