No Account of Trifles, a poem

splash of pinkSteal what you will, my friends,
of small no-account things
De minimis non curat lex.
The law takes no account of trifles,
though the recommended thefts
are not trifles to me

I have stolen, in the heat of the
summer, the scent of roses
for my skin and the rich aroma of
night-blooming jasmine to waft
through the house and come to
settle gently in my lungs

In winter snowflakes appeal
Steal dozens to line the drawers of
your memories, to keep them fresh
Lazy motes of yellow moon-dust
are recommended to lay like sachet
in your heart, to color your dreams
with light, your awakening with hope

In stealth gather butterflies and bees
into pink rhapsodies and dragonflies
to stitch beauty and language into poetry
Steal from your children too, their hugs
are nontoxic, tonic for heart health
And the theft of your mother’s laugh
will sooth you mind, rest assured

In flight, pluck away the snow caps
from the mountains below; the fluff of
clouds are best as nightgowns, sexy
and sheer and lined with spun silver
Yes! Have at it, my friends …
With all my thefts the law has
not caught me. It takes no account
of what are trifles, by its reckoning,
not mine; De minimis non curat lex.

©  Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

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