Floral Diving

My mask fills,
floral-fluid,
tainting my view
yet sweetening
as rustic sweets
discovered in antique tins.

Plastic straps
hold a TV-shaped mask;
bracken pieces lace eyes
as a iron-ore rose
reaching high… skyward,
reluctant to submerge
in shunning depths of murk
where consciousness clouds
as misty windows
from boiling kettles.

Dive, floral bound…

Pick the blooms.
Trace the petals.
Open your mind.

Swim freely,
floral flighted -
the stems whisper your name.