The orchids bloom, yellow and bright.
There are no tears, no insect bites,
no wilted edges curling low.
Symmetry thrives. The petals glow
like keyholes full of morning light
as they creep edgewise up a slight
gray trunk. Roots reach between the night
wide gouges. And where no leaves grow
the orchids bloom.
The lifeless branches crouch in tight
bundles of stumped expansion. Might
emerges. Buds must spread, must flow
through hollow spaces where a slow
release of emptiness ignites
the orchid’s bloom.