Frangipani

When the frangipani blooms
even a walker with Walkman,
absorbed in the music’s momentum,
would sniff the exuberant
flooding of air.
Warm scent flows over the boundary
of fence and gate:
enveloping,
promising.

Each shell-like petal
is held in a brooch,
close to the heart,
a glowing white
in joggers’ twilight.

Lynette Arden

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and her web site: Lynette Arden Poetry and Art