The still surface of the muddy water

The still surface of the muddy water

Lies at the obscured root of the flower.

I squint when I am looking at the picture

Of her, the one where she's bending over

The fire, her clothes are loose and disordered.

The curve of heaven knows me as a lover

Of weather that moves in uneven measures,

Of the iridescent undulating clouds

That wander over the rolling pasture.

At the root of the flower is the mover

Of doctrine in soft rain, is the teacher

Bringing knowledge about the beloved.

The moving limit of the muddy water

Hides in the occult history of flowers.