One Reply to “Floral corridor”

  1. Dearest Peter,

    This dedication and your kind words meant the world to me at a very bad time, especially coming from a more sun-lit corridor no-one should find themselves trapped in by trust, and especially coming from you.

    Poem for an inspirational Scottish Wild Iris as a thank you, Aye:

    The Wild Iris

    Louise Gluck

    At the end of my suffering
    there was a door.

    Hear me out: that which you call death
    I remember.

    Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
    Then nothing. The weak sun
    flickered over the dry surface.

    It is terrible to survive
    as consciousness
    buried in the dark earth.

    Then it was over: that which you fear, being
    a soul and unable
    to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
    bending a little. And what I took to be
    birds darting in low shrubs.

    You who do not remember
    passage from the other world
    I tell you I could speak again: whatever
    returns from oblivion returns
    to find a voice:

    from the center of my life came
    a great fountain, deep blue
    shadows on azure seawater.

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