your fragrance
lights my eyes
with memory--
that day we walked
the flower paths
at Giverny,
your breathing heavy
with the flattening
of lily pads
against the water,
mine reeling, heady
with a glimpse
of cilia down
on feathery curls
of poppy leaves,
the ripening buds
as confident as fists
raised high by delicate
arms, each bulging
with its thick
red wing

Tom Koontz
Indiannual 1990