Asterid Ericales

Storms throng a luminous body.

Emptiness

on barren farms,
a forest,

and quiet things without man;

the woven pastures

where she could be still.

An African dessert flower,
she preferred to leave the city nucleus

while she was still in bloom.

But the crowd cried back

screaming giants at her

fortress shield and sent her
running for cover.

Tomorrow sprung from yesterday’s bud.

we’re melting under pressure,

we’re breaking, softly, stained glass,

we’re pouring magnum from our cores

and spinning on our stomachs into copper.

With the earthly center

in her scope and silence surrounding,
she postulated

how freckles are fixtures.

She observed the pulse of a nerve,
scintillating lanterns and verdigris;

the way mold inches on a grave.

"We’re all dying slowly,"

she whispered, "but,
I’ve seen man's laugh lines

orbiting
like wandering suns

on the crest of his lips,

pale and parted."

e. chayes