More than not, you might look away, harder, against life itself
as if staring into the sun. To have love, include the broken.
A primary rainbow is red on the outside & violet on the inside
& reversed in the secondary bow. I take you to another window
where wasps spill from a nest in the eave. How to explain
the future: a tree falls apart leaf by leaf—ocean ushered
through the house leaves behind a thin film of pulverized
pearl—wire breaks the tender hay. For there is no end
to disappearing, no end to reinventing the snowflake, you speak
through the folded water. From nothing was made our world.
When the fruit is gone, it’s time. The newly washed love
intensifies inside a much smaller sea, then the soft crashes out,
darkens the powerless irises, their flayed curves along the fence.
I think of the piano set ablaze just so the torchbearer could hear
the fire pluck the strings. It burned under the moon in the yard.
It is in the sky’s nature to change hue & remain blue-souled as
a shell but you—you are infinite, you are beautiful as lava.
Flower Conroy is the author of three chapbooks: Facts About Snakes & Hearts, The Awful Suicidal Swans, and Escape to Nowhere. Her poetry has appeared/is forthcoming in Gargoyle, American Literary Review, Menacing Hedge and others.