“These blooms are not seen.”
–Luce Irigary
what I seek cannot be said
it lies beneath soft voices
a substrate for the spoken
a scaffold like spider’s threads
from which to dangle as the words
work their way past resistances
returning to your flesh what was given
adorning it with roses like kisses
blossoming across untended gardens
wild effusions unfurling its petals
withholding nothing in the resonances
of its deep mournful ululations
which began to bud in the silences
of all we could not say so long ago
(December 26, 2015)
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