by Amelia Doherty

My sweet lion’s tooth,
The star-flower, the yellow buds
That bloom, the wish-granting blossoms,
Tap-rooted, northern born and bred, wild.
Lobed, rosette, a prize for the lion’s teeth
The paddock’s stars, the clock-seeds,
We’re running out of time, you’ll wilt soon.
Florets, sun rays, wind-walkers, parachutes,
Sweet sun of the land, the stars that grow
In clumps of breathless marathons
Among the breezes. My sweet lion’s tooth,
We’re running out of time.