Calendula

deer are in an early gray coat,

spurning winter’s ritual.

bevy stands frozen

stripping calendula

in drips of mary’s gold.

sweet little weather-glass

eyes less than thirty

shades of beauty cold...

pulled from the womb

fragments frozen in five minutes

from our experience.

local, borderless country

of human migration

caught in the backfire effect,

facts that never win arguments.

cosmic climates melt saffron

sparks of colors across the sky,

lakes of lightning

and deer flee

keeping their curiosity,

the roadkill

of winter’s coldest,

a rational partnership

on the calendar of calendula.