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July 26, 2008
Flowerbox
Eye to eye with cornflowers, marigolds, a floral
galaxy of calyxes, flox, constellations of Queen
Anne’s lace, in a flowerbox roped to a rusted rail,
on an old-brick warehouse braced by ancient iron stars.
Far below, an abandoned worksite, narrow grotto of I-
beams, bricks, cinderblocks, sand piles, piles of nails,
of rubble, metal ducts, blue tarps. A yellow scaffold,
Giacometti-like, shifts its composition when I move.
Above: silver minarets, wrapped-wire pendants, beacons
flashing in roiling skies wild as seas, cloud-shrouded
as the grizzled hair of Fates. Skies like an atlas open
to double-spread fractal-frilled coasts, the continents.
Comes the secretive scuttle of rain: hermit-crab patter
on hard coral, the scurry in borrowed shells; plick-plick
tap the crabs fleeing wavelets they call breakers, as
the pocked sand hides tectonic plates ineluctably shifting.
On this railed ledge, on this early dark Sunday, Earth
whirls with stars and meteors, all lost to me watching
water plick-plick on the yarrow, on the globemallow,
on pink blooms of the pollen-studded cosmos.

Posted by Jane on July 26, 2008 2:49 PM
Comments
Written by Janie Bloom?
Posted by: Claudia Cassel at August 8, 2008 12:37 PM


