“for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness”
—Galway Kinnell, “St. Francis and the Sow”
Deepest scarlet,
the claret cup
blooms in the desert,
flouting drought, flouting
heat. It does not need
anyone to think it
is beautiful. So simple,
so simple. It blooms.
It blooms because.
It blooms despite.
It blooms and loses
its blooms so soon
and does not grieve the loss.
It opens. It opens regardless.
It opens and blesses
itself with its opening.
This is marvel
enough to send someone
into her own wild desert,
to see what she might do.