All Saints
A bouquet exists
in my head.
All the dead
who’ve come into
my life
still blooming,
still fragrant.
All the colors, sudden
shapes, lingering
leaf patterns,
everything under
the same sun
touched with rainwater
and still glistening.
Surely they don’t remember
having encountered me.
But here they are
like snowflakes,
apple seeds,
narrow footpaths.
That is its own kind
of heaven,
this one mind
gathering
all the souls
in a wind
that blows faintly
and refreshes.
David Radavich has published a variety of poetry, drama, and essays, including two epics, America Bound and America Abroad, as well as Middle-East Mezze and The Countries We Live In. His plays have been performed across the U.S. and in Europe. His latest book is Here’s Plenty (Cervena Barva, 2023).
Amethyst Review 