Kissing was the prophecy,
a bud we took
to a garden
where love's cultivar grew
too profuse for pharaoh.
He dismissed this
sleight of hand
not the work of prophets
but magicians on a fling
since he could not cross
the rununculus rolling
like a carpet for our feet.
Ashley Martin is a librarian, runner and mother. Some of her poems have been published in Quadrant Quarterly.