Among the ordinary lilies
of the valley, their bells
lined up neat
as choristers, you’re the country
cousin, tiniest sparkler
of bloom, stamen
projecting, nothing shy about
you. And who isn’t sexy
under the trees
by the lake, who isn’t
a little aggressive,
full of the need
to ignore the rules, to say
something directly
out of the thunder
of ground, the whole dark
that spawned us?
Nothing greater
than sex. The dark would run on
forever without it.
You show up
with your frowsy equipment
powered by two clapping
leaves, to unbalance
the civil town. Or, it may be
my mind taking hold,
tangling desire
in my hair until it is all a Medusa’s
coil, something we
come to together.