Published May 23, 2007 at 4:00 a.m.
The garden has ignited.
It's feverish. Even the white clematis
flutters with sun,
and the red lilies and coral bells
burn back at it. Windblown petals
of cardinals flash
across the buttery primroses:
a good year for gardens.
Everything shines.
I write this standing at my window.
I don't go down into the garden.
From here I see everything
at once, all the flowers trapped
in color, in their showy, slow
ignition - petal, pistil, leaf and stamen
separating off. Perhaps
there is a way
out of such fiery
gorgeousness. It must
be wearing. Even at night
when I've gone blind
I hear a splendid confusion
of harmonics, what only can be
the sharp yellowing
of gloriosas, the speckle-
throated oranging
of the Canada lilies.
- John Engels
From Recounting the Seasons:
Poems, 1958-2005, University of Notre Dame Press.
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