A Flowering: Non-Finito
The lilacs are succumbing to rust &
their perfume is thinning.
Today
it is giving rain.
Maybe the river
has risen in the night & we’re fitting
the barricades of stone and sand
in a lull between storms.
Maybe what’s coming is nothing
but sun & maybe the mouths &
throats of the changing will (with
the help of a breath of low wind) turn
their faces to us & offer the water
on their faces to the old star
that burns & churns & turns,
that coaxes and explodes & coaxes
us close to it like
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