Once a year
a crimson canopy
irrepressibly
unfolds itself
and the walls
of the house
flicker like flames.

And because I want to
and because I know how to
I take you out
amongst the red flowers.

A squall of rain
catches us unprepared
and running for cover.

You shout and laugh
and dissolve with me
into all things bright
and transparent.

This year I'd like to believe
it was me who planted
the red flowers in your hair.