Cactus Flower

 

Day Twenty-Five

I'd lain so long, bones in the sand,

desolate. Bloodless. How - 

a morning mutes the half-light

(just twinkling) 'til

the detonation of a blackbird.

Such a fury/joy eruption, I've

not felt since I was startled

by the cactus flower.

Clarion plume from the habit

of a Mandarin duck, fanning

an eye (sudden) at the sun.

And I blazed orange,

like the cock-of-the-rock, and

gnashed my teeth white-

hot, delirious with

the waxy fat of a succulent

squeezed between my fingers

(juice running).

Come dusk, the show was over.

The flower left me

mute as the morning,

A palm full of spines.