flooding the Thames

send back-and-forth
bouquets of Tunisian Jas-
mine from the end of the Nile
to your love at the delta

and lion’s manes
from the low savannah,
tied in vines of
deep Beijing
reds and greens

birds from paradise
encased in Venetian amber
carry the candle
scents of Italy and the tropics

moonstones from
high in angels’ faults;
with Styrofoam,
red-eyed to London,
fan the light
like her porcelain visage

these are not reminders of faith in words; but
know that they will relieve the Thames—
the crystal silt—
glass ash—
dust from her whitewashed sill.