Talavera Moondust

I can picture Talavera and walk on blue and white where the flowers are alight, specked with fires. by some displacement, a coersion of natural law: cool to the touch, and still dazzling to the eye. Grown here where the sun can't turn petals gold. where petals bloom like candles instead of sweeping infernos Grown here to be distant from the home it blooms for: where it devours up, hungrily, the muteness of the breeze.