I don't know the names of these flowers...
but wait, that is the road back.
I found myself here when I forgot
the royal road and the mission.
Camouflaged, a cat brushed past stems
certain of an afternoon's handful of things,
one being-  these flowers reject names.
I'm pleased to know just so much 
as some darting creature bound for rest 
when the closing sky suggests rain.
A flock like the wind itself was here and gone
where little flowers and I narrow our eyes.
I wouldn't nip the hour in the bud
should it aim a lightening strike my way
but hours pass. No appointments can be made;
one but waits to unfurl, to explode or live
to recognize these prayerful, fleeting hours.