for Gabriel Rummonds

They bloom above
the yellow dazzle of cosmos
and even after the sticky sweetness
of the vibrant petals of red peonies
were shattered by wind and rain.

These royal purple iris,
reigning atop their thin stems,
announce themselves
as royalty to the garden,
their petals veined with magenta

and tipped at their center
with a dab of yellow,
holding themselves
open, as if always flying upward,
their emanation a similar hue

as that associated with Zadkiel
and the angels of the purple light ray,
whose auras are so memorable
that they appear
as they appear, etched and emblazoned,

by a divine aesthetician,
and providing not just contentment,
which can merely be palpable,
but also constitutes a healing visage,
a balm for the eyes—

as if the irises themselves
are rinsed by their color
pervading the air, and in their
uncommon, but simple, decorum,
avail themselves in cleansing us all.