Lilies: Love's Opening
Standing in front of the florist’s,
“I want flowers,” she said, “Lilies.
These’ll open in Ireland; only
Ones that will; like those inked glories
Olga gave to me in Paris.
They bloomed in no time madly –
Showed she loved me without tariff.”
A bunch scented, selected, bought.
“Let’s see how these behave this week.”
She plants them closed in a teapot
Love’s pale green hopes:
Waters, once, twice,
Thin clitorises awakening,
Pushing showed through the whitening
Hoods darkly – “It begins, she says,
The revelation of life’s glory”–
Unrooted stems still thickening,
Echoes of a mother’s memory
Feeding this second fleeting sprouting
Past death as resurgent daughters.
Moon’s measure passing increases
The opening - the subtle unfolding -
Long lazy days and peat fires burning
Cannot halt. This second birth’s needs
Need just as much as the first – reeds
Dried, petals failing she nurtures,
Then in raptures
This Lazarean bloom explodes,
Each bud, even the last stubborn two,
Of itself incarnate, arched unfolds
Proclaiming a love simple and true,
And I, in wonder, look upon them and her.