SELF-PORTRAIT AS A POPPY
nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,
qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati
ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam
tactus aratro est.
“She calls you”, he says, “Lilith in habit, tracker wasp
that I am host to and the snake that tempts me.
If God calls you to order, you will harness Him
as a tame horse to your cart
and the street will lie paved with spouses.”
That I don’t break out of my frame and contradict
this still-life. That I conceal the better images.
Cracks in a snail’s calcium-carbonate shell
a sock on a mountain top, a glove in the street
a flower classified as weed, then resolutely cut.