We are not long for this earth, I know-
you and I, all our petals incurled,
till a night of pale brilliance, moonflower aglow.
Is there love anywhere in this strange world?
The agave knows best when it’s time to die
and rages to life with such rapturous leaves
her name means Illustrious. Each hour more high,
she claws toward heaven, for, if she believes
in love at all, she has left it behind
to flower, to flower. When darkness falls
she wilts down to meet it, where something crawls:
bewildered, beheaded. And since love is blind,
she never adored it, nor watches it go.
Can we be as she is, moonflower aglow?
– To Flower by Michael R. Burch