Trailing nasturtium

You were the only thing that grew
in the pot. You came straight,
bent backwards,
hugged your own legs


and turned conjurer
pulling endless green ribbon
out of your mouth.


You spun plates,
clashed cymbals
and tambourines.


Your sprouts became


parasols, U.F.O.'s,
lily pads floating on air,


pennies, pancakes
and platters invisible
sideways on,


crested heads
of tongue-poking
infant dragons
yawning
a yellow flair.


Contortionist
arm-locking
your own shoulders,


leaf-a-day wonder,


you continue to meet
yourself coming
in the other direction.

Published in Dreich