White-gloved, a flower head beckons and directs
me towards the gap.
I look and I
don’t mind the
gap
don’t mind being directed, bossed
at, waved over, and persuaded by
the delicate, by the fragile, by a neck
condemned
by one sweep of a gentle breeze
to follow, to fall-flow, and to bleed
down
the
gap.
Copyright of text and photography owned by Jay Cool, June 2018
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 