Protea —Geraldine Connolly
Today begins in sunlight and blossoms.
A wing sweeps the desert.
Eggs boil on the stove.
Swords burst from plants.
I am still alive, surprised
at the rattle of the lampshade,
the knocking of eggs in the pot,
a constant drift of buttery blossoms
onto the patio where they're scattered
by lizards. All night, the star
above the rooftop shone like an idea.
Now it's gone. Only once have I seen
a mountain lion back-lit, moon-lit,
until she vanished into the forest
and became an absence on the night road.
From the remains of stars, new stars
arise. Helium deep in their cores
keeps them from collapsing.
We could so easily fold and die.
Protea: Three red and three yellow,
mutable, with corollas of silver.
Remind me to watch as something
luminous approaches, as something changes
before my startled eyes.
