Monday, July 03, 2006

Botanical Year

Spotless birth bears repeating
in ordinary summertime,
after the dead trees have been cleared from the hillside,
and the empty garage is swept down to oilstain,
after the fires are out, and the last steak has been eaten,
and after practically everyone's left
(did we remember to stop the News ?)
for the mountains or the ocean. Even then
milk-white, tongue-pink stars are arriving
in a clutter of brome and pepperweed.

Is this what was promised, this self-
renewing flower-flesh,
this immaculate rot ?

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