Wildflowers

I came back to an amber reckoning  
tactile with grievances;  
masked announcements
hovering in midair,  
replacing hummingbirds.  
 
The fields lacked in nectar,  
discouraging wildflowers;  
bulldozed under land  
bearing dense, useless grass.  
Butterflies unreturning  
like fallow yesterdays  
to shallow tomorrows,  
grounded in unhastening,  
carried on an updraft:  
There it goes.  
 
I rise too, surfacing like  
a buried relic, unearthing from  
my own entombment,  
where have I been all this time,  
I can't remember it all now,  
but that yesterday had a rosy glow  
and was prosperous.  
 
Today it is brash  
in floating uncertainties.  
I lose myself there like an  
old, dead friend, the grief stale,  
unpropitious, unreturned  
yet not received by anyone.  
 
I let it go like a sudden, deep breath  
that no one hears;  
it is an exhalation of my dreams  
which float away, light as air.  
I'm sure they are replaceable  
like a million identical mosquitos;  
I'm sure they will endure somehow.  
 
Hurried people spin about from a distance;  
I don't feel a part of it though I'm sure  
their affairs are palpable and  
full of adroit direction.  
 
My vagueries befit more a retroactivity,  
my thoughts an eddy among  
swiftly flowing currents  
leading to some foreign land we are  
ignorant of as yet, though it lies  
just around the bend.  
That is believed if not surely preached  
in every sunlit moment  
arrived at in struggle.  
 
I would rather remain in bewilderment,  
suspense or just dumbfounded,  
drowsing in distant, muffled cacophanies;
tiny worlds imploding  
as if they never registered in any real way.  
They are little yesterdays saying goodbye  
with each breath as they float away.  
 
My perspective deepens in such reconnaissance  
as if memory was enough to ensure emancipation  
from fates unknowns  
or those created by ones  
who don't want to recall  
the unlandscaped, chaotic mass  
that was a field  
of wildflowers.  
 
        .....