flower pressing

by Ethan Heusser
The albums of flowers begin 
with grief and then revelation:
three-headed dogs, a wreath of
supped pages where a slip of the
brain leaves this tongue on the floor,
since loss belies possession belies
the conceit (& the carpet smells of
rosemary still) & after you slip off
the pier and, sleeping,
evaporate purely – this coliseum 
rendered down to bone and
carapace, a mobile home growing
roots or rather settling in
or rather settling
a long-forgotten loan – we desiccate
the plants in fear 
they might keep growing,
too much the instant flesh
of a beautiful flare, chiding, somehow
still regretful as i was when
our voices for once grew silently
against the sleep rather than the sleeper, 
you will not take me, no, instead i will 
press the search between pages, the vice simple 
gravity, this bleeding heart a revelation, Lamprocapnos 
Spectabilis, giving back its water as rebellion, 
sharing itself, sharing
finally with me.