by Jenny Grassl

deep in the flower you coax      feel the pod-throb
like your own pulse      and the vine bluing in your wrist
grow penumbras of spring in hour of ancestor
their amniotic skins shadow and onion-hover you
keeper of the green flame      binge toward peak flowering
let folded-in wings crack and fly      their color stun rip
of red      gold and orange      a pyromania spurred by spice
from earth’s core and surface honey      when frost breaks them
at the knees      pull stems away from the ground      by root
and wastrel hair      yanked scaffolding of a summer
hold high the vine    soaking your garden gloves
last juice      to shake the earth and inherit

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