From the green axil of the velvetleaf
angled to the sun and its splintered light
a yellow flower that dulls the green
with its stigma centered in a pistil
opens to acknowledge a social bee.
The cosmopolitan beetle below
senses leaf-mining flies inside the stem.
Born into disturbed soil, this tall weed breathes
by heart-shaped leaves, a stout stalk of soft hairs,
its five petals that converge each summer.
Clouds rend the air, beams extend the sky’s dome
and converge in a far vanishing point,
bluish shafts telling us it is twilight,
our gloom. I’d show my son if I had one.
______________________________
Excerpted from Hereafter by Alan Felsenthal. Copyright © 2024. Available from The Song Cave.
