the enso

"Bringing the Outdoors In" by marlowe

the poem

We notice the single crocus
as it rises like a phoenix from her nest
of rotten leaves, snow, and dried roses
wilted like damask gowns. The wind
sings to us like a siren.

Pine needles, disturbed by the wind, bristle
like porcupine quills, and fallen leaves
tumble over the pavement, clapping
like the hooves of galloping horses.
And these holly berries cradled in my palm?
Drops of blood.

And this blood boiling in your veins?
Love. It isn’t what you make it,
love is. Your center, your core:
it is the hub of that wheel.

We walk to the center of the forest. Trees
point paths to the divine, above and below,
but these evergreens stand
as stiff as the Queen’s Guards.

This evening, the cappuccino froth will sit stiff,
as decadent as whipped cream,
in your spoon while peppermint nips
your tongue like frost. You will argue
that the corkscrew of this cinnamon roll
is a mortal coil.

We will be spoiled, coiled in layers.
Our stained glass ornament will glow like the North Star
while the Christmas tree lights shine like constellations.
And this wrapped present will be a universe
waiting to be discovered.

the enso

"Winged Jewel" by Diana Catron-Nurkowski

the poem

Suspended in midair
like a trapeze artist, your wings
a yellow halo above your green breast, your eyes
are clear, your intent known.

Not unlike the dragonfly or wasp,
your acrobatics deceive us, set up
an illusion we later realize
may actually defy physics, expectations.

Like you, we crave
love and nourishment, the sweet reminders
that someone cares enough to refill
our coffee cups, hold our hands, let go.

All it takes is nectar —
an oasis of tall cylinders with easy access, and you
will grace us with your darting joy, show us
everything we did wrong.