The Eve of Murdered Petals

On the eve of petals murdered in the bud,
Gnats knew not to rise above the rest

Had I not lived, you still had loved another,
And had your tigress eyes over-leaped Léman
I would have been the ripple
That followed in its wake,
Algae soft beneath my lake 
For stones to tumble
Unbeknownst to wreaths of clouds and snow –

Instead, your bidding sends me willingly
To blunder in
Where no current bereaves me
And I tingle in the heavy air, 
My heart compressed

That day along the Rhein comes back
And all of colza-flowered Germany –

Still, neither of you will ever have 
The crown, the pinnacle,
The cloud upon the tongue
Of a lung’s expanse,
To be one’s two, my very own

Published by Johanne Boulat

Johanne Boulat was born in French-speaking Switzerland, where she lives again now, but she grew up under the resplendent California sun. For 21 years she basked in the spirit of the Wilderness, which she discovered on hiking as well as literary paths. She received her Bachelor of Science in Animal Biology from the University of California, Davis in 2012 and since then has worked as a scientific field aid, a translator, a sales specialist, and a running coach. In 2018, she completed her master’s degree in English Literature at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland. She now teaches English and Science at a local elementary school and dedicates her free time to the three “R”s: Running, Reading, and Writing.

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