A Sense of Explosion

the sense of explosion is a matter of time,
or timelessness, not war
— to watch a day-lily explode
requires, well,,, a day —not counting
the slow extension of stems
which send up buds primed for ignition,
whose count-downs: 5-4-3-2-1 are of minutes,
or some other arbitrary division of hours
until they split in slo-mo, sleepy supernovas
opening their salmony, lavender-splashed, yellow and
peach petals and light-blessed pistils, a lone bee, and stamens
which cluster in the midst of a world of other bursts,
not of bombs, but incendiary in another way,
an exquisite way, without hint of blood
except that which fills the heart of one who
has entered the galaxy of a garden, and sees

Jim Culleny
4/13/22