© JVieira Night that to the stars
says ‘Open’, to other
flowers, to this lily
in particular, says:
‘Shut’. I was in bud
once, clenched on
a thought, until day
dawned, peeled back
my petals; I was all
stamen. Love came to me
for my pollen, made
honey in a brief
comb. Was it a day,
a year? Night that has
kept its distance,
that says to the blossom
in a dark orchard
‘Open’, says now
to me here ‘Close’.
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