I was barefoot when it happened.
As Fibonacci (all things told) assured…
if it happened to him, it could happen again
Toes tangle midst wild-eyed gazanias;
Love unfolds within dewdrops, quivering on rims of pink blown glass
She is delicate, this rose,
her leafy past a staircase rimmed in gold
blooming in her season
as patterns foretold.
Winter stars give way to strawberry moons,
a fox runs through our vineyard
A Gardener’s glove
stretches past Orion, threads through Gemini,
plants sequential in the skies,
whispers louder than her blooms:
Come away with me, my beloved,
To places where little roses begin
I told myself to remember, before frost dusted dirt—
But I forgot
the fragrant bud in mountain folds,
feared tiny aphids defying beauty,
forgot dewy fingers as they linger.
Again and again,
I am barefoot when it happens,
surprised by seasons.
Somewhere under a fragrant star,
the Little Prince and I
startle
A Mexican-American poet residing in Fresno, CA, Kimberly Vargas Agnese loves walking barefoot and spending time outdoors. She believes that the sacred is as close as a human’s breath and enjoys playing the Native American flute. To read more of Kimberly’s work, please visit www.bucketsonabarefootbeach.com.