her gees bend quilt

for my friend, c.
(jan 1, 2003--april 1, 2011)

the tethered are
solemn.
dressed in grief and collapse

they fall into that mattress of
comfort        into that
cradle of rite
roman catholic and
heavy with incense
and wailing.

and the unbound is nowhere.

now are only breeze and
only sown flowers,
a pagan patchworking of jungleskein.
madness 
the fantastic    the improbable quiltcover for
this bed of ache. 

now the sun stopped
but still
the pink plumed astilbe
are grenadier guards
playing drum, blowing brass.
to mark the change.  and they

guard mutely and erect
that spark
and that flash,
that war making
sleep making poppy.
her morphine release
and her drift and dream
again

endly the radiation
is of the sonorous
of the sweeping and
sway and sway. 

of darwin's tulips in april
white bowing to absence,
white bowls slender throats.
white sugaring those necks 
that inspire the writing of songs.

stitched together here are
impossible things.
as impossible as
it is

and the
pink bellis   spider chrysanthemum   poison ivy
the lambs ear     hyacinth    stinging nettle  
the baby's breath    gladiola  forsythia   and bird of paradise
and no roses.    they live

like us.

so yes:

grow here.  
yes sagebrush,
yes
meat-eating   blade-jawed venus.
yes
dandelions
in perpetual wish state.