You are the perfect bud
In every flower
The bloom, the wilt, the petal fall
Mirrored to Infinity.

You are the dark-fingered howl
That rips the brittle stem
The long and deathly still decay
The tight dry seed, blind
to its changeling form.


Photo by: Susan Burgess

You are the frost that snaps at twigs of hope
The broiling storms that trample embers past
The snowflake, fractal of impermanence
Upon the blood-life cheek, that you also are.

The earth-cloaked melt
its drops of secret powers
Winding its ways of dark and sacred duty.

While up above, the petals sing
To the softening mud they’ve fallen in.
“In every flower
We are the perfect bud.”