Geraniums
Perhaps it’s the true geraniums dressed
for winter
as they release oils when brushed by
passing legs
Beyond the acrid diesel fumes, beneath the
salted air
piercing the viscous light pouring on the
boulevard
a perfume, an ancient scent for this
valley
and its austere wardrobe of concrete,
steel
Light pouring in sheets slices the moist
salted air
flashes, then stills to lay thick on each
flat plane
The foot-worn trail of pavement wears an
icy sheen
glinting sharply here, there, across the
promenade
asphalt’s warmth competes
with the slick chill of the earth
The night’s mist is replaced by steam
vapors rising
tendrils seeking openings in loose-fitting
overcoats
I walk fully open into the shifting cold
morning
the sun’s rays shimmer on a wall of dark
reflection
The scent of Himalayan geraniums
Overflow their concrete basin
This brisk scent rekindles the morning,
restores
to the concrete canyon a deep sensual
empathy
With deep love for this port, doubtless,
the City’s gardener
has graced the thick seaborne air blanket
with geraniums
Michael Theroux
Michael Theroux writes from Northern California. His deeply published career has spanned botanist, environmental health specialist, green energy developer and resource recovery web site editor. Entering the creative writing field late in life at 72, Michael is now seeking publication of his cache of art writings which include two novels and perhaps 400 poems and short stories. Some of his shorter works may be found in Down in the Dirt, Ariel Chart, 50WS, Academy of the Heart and Mind, CafeLit, Poetry Pacific, Last Leaves, Backwards Trajectory, Small Wonders, The Acedian Review and the Lothlorien Poetry Journal.