*
Those two bugs around so long
poised on the rose bud opening
in new velvet petals ─
redolent.
If they could, they’d say, “Life.
Life all joy all love.
And then death.
What matters?”
No. Take off. Soar.
All sky sky. Become
wholeness. Light.
Yes. Yield to lovely
death and burn
in the glow of
this sun.
Surely the blaze gives life
to newer life,
the most lovely:
magic.
From that charm can spring
my poem:
this flower this heart this flame