for Andrew

Beside the path
at the edge of the sun
and the margin of the shade
a small structure on a short stalk
like a hive
or Breugel’s Babel
divided into storeys
of cells or stalls
each one varied:
some hold a tight purple furl,
others are empty and
other display the gracious
flower that shows it mint:
elegant lips and throat
stamens like a proffered tongue—

Self-Heal.

A flower that I’m told
is of no use
is a flower that, I think,
must heal itself.