I’m lounging outside the Villa Bauden,
eyes disconnected from my thoughts,
content for now to linger in the sun,
take in the grizzled quarry-face, pick out the pink
that glints and gleams between the lichen,
the tangled shrubs that sprout
from weathered crevices and cracks.
A late bee buzzing by my ear
draws my eyes to where
an undefeated dandelion has spread
its broad, tough leaves umbrella-like
across the blue-grey grit.
Tall as raised golden fists, flowers rise,
unfold to throw their future to the wind.