Squill on the Hill

Short grass shining on the headland high. Little blue stars where the sea

meets sky. Spring squeal scattered in the cropped green swath.

Tiny sky droplets we once ignored. Six-petaled starlight on a ten-cent stem. Quiet as a

whisper on the coastal rim. You knelt down first, said,

"Look at this view. Not just the ocean but the galaxies,

too." Squill on the hill, I see you still.

Bluer than the breakers when the bay lies still. Squill on the hill

in the salt spray chill. Every tiny flower says I always will.