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Gerry Loose
Anemone

it’s the edge of season
darkness moves on the hill west

in mountains once an old man made me a present
not the jewel-stone at the end of his rosary
we couldn’t untie or bite off
but of its absence & his intention

with the given grace of this plant this
flower arranged in the void of a vase
form & emptiness
which needn’t even be said

I tell its names ...ranunculus... wind
flower ...autumn-bright-goldflower... count bracts
petals sepals stigma
but cannot reach its seed syllable

.......there is no border to absence
its currency not separate from this
room... this paper
mountains & here too at last &

because unexpected the jewel-stone
the seed... the one essential flower of blood
in the heart in vein
in brain somewhere

as if now as if alive an anemone pushes
through cooling duff of autumns before

 

 

 

 

 

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