There are these flowers
with centers like liquid

hollows up close
and the outline

melts like a trick.
An illusion is usually

dark by the end.
An illusion is thin

curving for some
spark, along it to trace

a straight
shot to the rigged

bones of the plot,
to drink the quiet, like dirt.

Copyright © 2015 by Emily Hunt. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 22, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.