I almost miss her

Told to look for massive tributes,

there are none.
Only a tumble of blue and pink

so voluminous

it covers up her name.
There are no poppies in October.

It’s borage and granny’s bonnet in June.
Snapdragons, and low-growing lemon

roses enfold her edges.
Bees come and go with a soft burr

that sounds like honey.
A single strand of sedge rides the air—

slow Ariel.