Roman

Two Lips

Forced open flowers 
smell like fear.

Petals come to 
call only at the time
given to, taken from,
commanded by inside.

Watch, listen, unfold.
Give the meadow's
due and get a sting,
a buzz, a thorn. Exchange
is not a matter for prairies,
that is fire and stone and loss.

An open sky breathes itself in
when alveoli clouds burst with
blue lining, shining unbroken
skin, wedded with superabundant
light.