The Irises Given to Me by a Man Who Once Grew Apples for Stalin
July–August 2015
The irises flood the room with the scent of pebbles
filtering moonlight along the platinum river.
The state of the Big Bang in the long morning after:
dandelions littering the lawn’s leaf litter,
their veins filled with a white and bitter milk —
the stars among us. At last, it is November.…