Blue bells, blue bonnets, blue
pool above it all; finished rain
settles dense vapour in violet
hyacinth combs, dousing air
yards over; rabbits blither through freesia,
rear on hind legs, in awe of magnolia,
all the patience in the world and only concerned
with buds; perched as though blooming
were a form of flight. I never knew
the buzzard circling my home lacked
remorse–I wanted it to be a kindness,
like the names of your favourite flowers
scrawling prescriptions in the desert:
azalea, hydrangea, lily of the nile.
Nick Visconti is a writer who loves baseball. He currently lives in Brooklyn with his partner and a cat.
