IRISES

Looking into the speckled blue throat of this iris
could a mind do this

can a thought finely turned
open like this
for two glorious weeks
and be shimmering blue beauty hanging in memory

this beautiful throat has opened
and says nothing so quietly it can be heard
it is a bottomless throat

i have heard it called an artichoke
an onion
i have called it other things myself
and now the iris is singing
and i am silent as it sings

and can hear petals shiver the air