|
Flowers Fold |
a flower folds a lamp and falls apart
into its dryly competent heaven;
though continent snow has loved in the same air,
lived there filling it with drifting being,
ice befitting time, memories
and the obstinacy of water
existing in several forms, steam
and tension, though here flowers
are a speck of light and moth wings
of night covered with knives;
flowers fold to die, and only
“never” knows the time
they show; no flower knows,
man alone is whole
copyright 2009
david
mclean |
