Maybe the moon or
pieces of it, with gilded edge
to contain it. Maybe just some breath,
the desert's prayer of gratitude
for a season of
abundant rain or maybe
the sudden opening into darkness
a question,
an urgency from another
of those many things that grows
most beautiful right before it dies;
this the branding of night by
something more ephemeral, some
brief satiny blaze that
yields itself to the morning
having found what I have found
in that same mood:
the desert wind is always
whispering its indigo secrets
but it never says
the same thing twice.
Sometimes called 'Queen of the Night', the night-blooming cereus is an otherwise unassuming cactus species. But once a year it blooms spectacularly, fragrantly, for a single night; the gorgeous flower already having wilted by morning. Catching it, in its bright glory, for that brief moment in the dark — feels like a life-affirming secret, revealed…

No comments:
Post a Comment