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I asked every flower

I asked every flower I met

had they seen my palest friend.

The one called world-without-end

shook from its august arrête.

“A blink in the dark, pauvrette,

this business of breach and mend.”

Then to search is only to spend?

A bier in the air, oubliette?

“Fertility’s fraud is forget.

The soil that strains in the eye

breeding nuance, nascence, name

re-blooming a world that will die.

Each grain is a doorless my:

To search is only to same.”

from NominaFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2008
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Karen Volkman Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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