Friday, April 10, 2015

AND EVER SHALL BE

Emboldened enigmatically by
bouts of 
night lightning—and not a bit

intimidated 
by the round 
rumbles accompanying it—now,

here and there,
rough and stiff
tufts of stubborn
shaggy green—have begun

to uncurl—
each discreetly 
extending its boundaries 

eventually—to beget bulbs;
creamy mellow smooth profusions of petals

of tender pink 
and sheer white 
and vulnerable yellow—and each swirl

somehow comprised
of such—an impossibly 
more ethereal 

material—than that 
rough reedy
stalk which had yielded it

as to offer—even men,
who rush

after rocks
and never surrender—

a new opportunity 
to once

again lighten-
up

and become their own children.

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