After O’Keeffe

 

A green star is a pink pentagon is a purple-becoming-black petunia limned by a dissipating border because white’s the color of lack. A subject dilates, gazing here, deferring explanations. Sheet lightning over Santa Fe, beyond the frame. Twelve seconds a gaze.

 

 

Acquiesced

 

inaudibly seeking pardon

jacaranda into May

to evade obsequious

mantis on the fixed prayer

(would have known would have)                  stamen and pistil

convention wrested for

 

a blessing a morning

 

—the clue far from original—

 

against grandiloquence as referent

where no surfeit suffice               with milk and sugar

into the backyard—

            that greening stage