Thistle
The thistle flourished beside the road with blossoms
that took their blue from the sky, then blew away.
You sang along with them in a language that only hummed.
Turned your eyes into a vase as wide as the field.
Used your brain as a frog to spike the stems.
Keep them alive inside your head as flowers that die
and bloom, die and bloom.
Chard deNiord is the former poet laureate of Vermont and author of seven books of poetry. Read more.
Chard deNiord’s poem “Thistle” was previously published in Green Mountains Review.