Snow Poppy

Soon my consciousness will take over and erect my body from the bed.
For now, I am dreaming of a nightingale farm and pale white wagons moving

Across the field of Chinese poppies, opium flirting, shaking
Like a waif without an immune system. My silver eyes

Are watery because the wind is powdery and my man is sitting
Right next to me on the wagon with my scarf tied around

Both our necks in a knot. We are riding without a break
To be taken to a sacred house behind the camouflage

Of poppies; the witch-colored pixies glowing
With no conscience and no limit.

In the alizarin field of the nightingale farm,
Towards the shelter of everlasting love,

At the time of first snow, glistening,
Through the beige of air trembling,

Landing on my hair, his head,
Like ashes of skin and bones

Of a romantic poet,
I close my eyes,

To capture
and remember.

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Kieren Jeane is a junior painting student at Maryland Institute College of Art.