ORCHIDS

With compassion, with affection

a vase in our house displays

now and then one bloom

perched on its stem like a butterfly.

How fine if there are two,

easing this slim desolation.

Sometimes at midnight I switch the lamp

for a candle, its haloed light

releasing bashful orchid shades,

the breeze from the window

trembling the petals’ composure.

Next morning, the candle dead,

solemn dawn’s slipped past the curtains,

the dim room bright,

their tangled stems, their blooms

naked as newlyweds.