Bougainvillea
Ruth Rice

mist wreathed coffee
beneath the garden gate
i pray before the morning
with my dreaming bougainvillea

they have chosen thorns
to keep this sanctuary
beautiful faces
against the wind
lifting limbs of lace
they bring the sun

orchid, saturated sky,
crisp white church dress
the bougainvillea render light
embarrassed
before their color

i have run my fingers
through the thorns,
know the poison
of their beauty
as my hands bleed
i sing the praise
of sunrise.