School of Flowers, Map of Stars

Constellations of poppies
brighten a stretch
of gold summer grass
like fish fanning currents,

petaled scales glinting
in the clear waters
of the Ligure.
We could have missed

the shimmering surface,
its shifting narrative
never the same,
but warm stones beckoned.

A moment, and the eye adjusts
to movement,
the sinuous shine.
Then silver blooms

in this green universe.
Nets are hauled,
cups filled as the sun's wake
ebbs in the west.

We have stumbled
onto our catch of years,
found each other and this wharf
without knowing the sea

or the moon's heavy fruit.
We drink the sapphire sky,
stroll toward lights
and a meal of five senses

as the great bear dips
into night's dark well
and a hunter strides home
through fields of stars.