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Ode to a Dying Orchid

A commission, waited for far too long.

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Of all enthralling blossoms Earth imbues
with leafy charms each season spells again
you bear no hollow life, no vapid hues
and through this candid stance my ardour win
Hard born in bitter soil you survive
that past your thorns of temperament there lies
like blue-skied rain, yet composite, yet keen
the purest core of passion: So. Alive.
To know that such a thing worth knowing dies
Stays not my hopeful hunt for evergreen

Let it be: that through the jagged worries
it is that the tender loves the tending;
Chosen from a swathe of banal posies
That picking of this flower means not ending
In careful hands, untaught and so afeared
of honest breath, a single misplaced touch
or heavy words this challenger implores
for ways that one to one could both endear
Pray teach me, orchid, how to hold you such
and stay your tired head a minute more

Now fly! You have been called, to golden fields
where glitterings drink stars and breathe the sun
where crowned faces turn and – blazing – yield
in simple adoration to but one
Your shine, not gone, but now invisible
a realm away and fading in the missed
moments, manner, meetings all now dead
But yet alive, and half-borne liminal
This after-image memory, slow kissed
by form and silhouette imagined

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