You worry about dropping things   so much has been spilled already

but I am        careless         balanced

on a stem      my petals blowsy     overblown

I lose a few   and lose a few

my filmy pieces of bliss      discarded

a silk wrap for your fingertip          a piece of dreaming sky

you want to know what kind of enigma I am—

I only know that I am          one that is translucent

and     one that is yellow     and

one that is red

I have dewy edges  still wet when in shadow

damp even    after hours in sunlight

and hinges    where petals fold down

from the white         of my fleshy centre

you ask

   what can that flesh be made of?

… tiny ear bones      all crushed and softened

the heart of hearing

or a flood of miniscule shells         patterns erased by the sea

the still centres of constant motion

And how can petals emerge from this?

… I let my colour bloom like blood

You ask more questions—

How does each petal know where it lives?

How does every part of you know where it lives?

I answer—

… all the creatures of the Earth

know where they live          remember

here is your hair      and here is each limb

sometimes outside  of every miracle

and sometimes        held within