The Heart of the Matter
who can dispute the name of a thing, one thousand different
flowers reign, royalty of redeye morning. I, indica, oceanblue,
favor the clasp of a redwasp, the pulp of mudcones, the closed
slip of her when sky clouds over, the shadequeens, cardamom
bold, light sensitive tooth-builders. the rain, the rain, the puddles,
the rain. when you soak their wings in vinegar, when you mummify
their plastic cocoons, when the internet is mad about a sandwich, the heart
of the matter, the heart of the neverfrozen thing. the flies explode, buzzing
against the window. the see-through needle-eye spiders swing
from the hammock. the birds are gone when the seed is gone.
the purpleblack morning glories of Philadelphia are the purpleblue
morning glories of the South. cups for squash tears, the closed eyelids
of the pleated fence. the wasps are busy, watching over the garden.
the flowers sulk & bend their way around the wood like a limp hug.
