class seventeen

Ode


Striking in obvious beauty,
your face is a
closed bud in spring,
hiding the complexity of all
that remains tucked beneath
its silky shroud: flawless,
it hides what you
never show to others.

And yet I envy more
than just your petalled skin:
the adventures that you bloom,
your hollered embrace
of life and those that surround you,
–even that: your devoted following–
all grow as green and violet vines
within my envious heart.

You’re the first crocus of spring,
the daffodil among weeds
and I can’t help but want to pluck you
from among the rest of them,
to savor you as my own.

It seems that all the
things you long to hold onto–
meetings, tests, names–are lost
within bouquets of
thoughts and dreams,

but you always seem
to remember your need for
life to blossom into life
at every fertile moment.