Clustering atop a leggy stem
ten elf green bodices tapered down
to blown about yellow pinafores.
Near the ground a mob of blotched leaves,
belching and gulping, stiff with liquor,
watched constellations kink and bend
and languages drift from grammar to grammar.
Sister Mary’s favourite flower
cast a light on all the gougers
that she coaxed, effing and blinding,
to various degrees of joined-up writing.
One great arching cadence
glosses the world as a double spiral
speaks to itself with epochs for clauses
root shoot and flower
stitching together the heavens and the earth