blue by weight and measure,

sky and foam sautéed

flower upon my plate

I open it up with knife and fork

but gently, gently

and mindful of its bluer than blue bouquet,

those secret garden urges

to flower again

and again and again

with the redbuds on my tongue

plunged in Arctic water

those petals closing after dark

with peace restored in the restaurant,

a vault of air and salt.