the flower of all worlds.
in my morning shower i discovered i’d a flower in my ear. it was tight so i said “bloom” but, drenched near drowned, this flower couldn’t hear. i set it out on my dresser to dry, and went about my day; when…
petals peel away and fall to ground. from close enough, from small, they make a sound as they floatumble through air, come to rest on grass and soil and root. the first and second reserve the rhythm, and in their beat the…
follow the red thread, pulling up handfuls in each hand; cross the lake on floating bridge to where the strand meets sand. see there, in the shallows? funeral barks lie sunken, home to crabs in spiral shells. beyond the beach, the path…
they say it in the quiet hour, whispering: there is a flower. in almost all the worlds it’s red as rising mercury is tinted, red as [s]lips would flush to whisper all the words at which eyes’ glints have hinted. for this…