The Flowering The flow of lilacs—forever warming, colored;
concentrated roundness draws regiments, gentle stalks graze toward dew-brushed leaves tending to wrap away by pale white but, oh!— beyond the eyes of shaking skies!
Like unknown barricades, new fawners whisper,
the bare ones resound louder—wild distinctly fades.

All sorts of blooming purple haze march deep,
and ambrosia dances nearer gently —one mighty struck silently, returns upon the doves gliding soft through; flashing filled with sun behind,
—bending, spreading gold, enfolding breaths…

Nothing hidden, nothing glimmers;
water white subsisting close to murmured grace - insecurity e’er bringing blooms from the slopes.
Move with the peonies, tender graces beneath
the gales advancing, smiles entwined with fields of hope.

Curled tightly waiting for the night filled shade;
the empty color hangs near your dream, also speaks.

• Marianne Moore