V8

Where is the turn?
as you blast flowers
from dual exhausts,
wondering why she ignores you,
in fabulous ignorance, hunting,
as enlightenment flees
to a time without numbers,
only grass forever waving
across the steppes of our depths.

But when the boy became dust he
never thought about beauty,
he was beauty in
iridescence,
a dream on the breeze
a flash of colour in the clouds
a wisp of fragrance in
your hair,
but somewhere drifting in his melody
you cried,
tears watering his bones
and raising an orchid.