What burnsand flowers, he moves toward. His hand across skies, hovers above thorned roses, darting bees. So much insidepounding to break out. On the porch, leaves take off, tomatoes ask for water, he asks me for nothing. Careful, Brendan. He bends to petals, reaches into stamens, stands stillamong the flit of wings, his face against …
The green shatter, a new flame growing from this crater * as skiesburned. You arrived, we were *made, forged and braided. Always bound by *the flare: our hole torn in space, scorched petals tipped * silver. Kneelingclose, we cup our hands, pour rain on *smoke, scatter your crystal— and the earth lights us.