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Bloom
Every petal on their skin a mouth
for the light, digesting the sun
to make it sweet, make it edible.
Alchemy at work in the slender bones
slipping from dresses, print by print;
lawns showered by the tattering silks,
the scatter of magnolia feathers.
The trial of the bloom begins.
Reward us for the rains, for the heat.
Nominated for The Pushcart Prize
by readers of Black Bough Poetry
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