Flowers
To be alive is power – Emily Dickinson We don’t expect to be here tomorrow so we are ruthless with our small lives we pump fragrance into the morning jewel the afternoon bend our petals like thumbs at night after the scrape of drought cloud is our deliverance water comes down in silver wires and ants twitch air between our roots the rough lick of the hose leaves a cleft for diffidence the crest of a worm’s tender head we eat bones blood and meat and our own bodies and...
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