The flower petal opened but a moment
     Before dusk.
It now sits wide and white
     Beneath the slight light offered by
     A starry, misty, moonless night.
Eyes touch it.
Ears cannot avoid a dozen sounds:
     Birds, crickets, frogs,
     The coarse rumble of feet
     Trying vainly to keep quiet
     As they cross damp grass.
Breath sounds;
Heartbeat sounds;
The body brushes softly past itself,
     Echoing the slight sounds of its contact.
Eyes still touch the flower,
     Dreaming their own vision of a ghost-white
         Night plant;
Ears seek the sounds of the planets,
     The echo of those dim, visible stars,
     Forcing their light through the veil
     Of the night mist.
Nearer sounds remain,
     Bury the ticking of the cosmic clock
     In their earthly buzz.
Ears seek vainly for silence
     As eyes watch the darkness
     Of the black-green stem
     Of the night-flower
And dew touches the dead-white petal
     Like the mists of life.
 

7/4/83
 

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