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.