May I

  how i   how I peer how I try   to penetrate   the in- terior   of your face   to see who is   living in   there: a man   or a woman   ? ?

  I Name You Anna –   The amaryllis is tipping her brilliant crimson into the desk.  Her curled stamens, once bold-gold   are suffering into their own dusts.  Some has already let go to a halo surround, their ‘come   and get me’ finger tips lingering in impotence. It’s been Christmas since. There are six   remaining blooms & I’ve turned the drying dying ones to face the south-east away from me.    Such blunted hunger, bulbed in her ball of wax.  Dwarfed. I wonder, when she is   finally spent, can I crack that red wax trapping her bulbs & set into her a pending rescue?  Can I   find, over the course of this next three seasons, a savory soil she can expand in, & spread the span   of her bulbed clavicles, her rooted backbones into sybaritic santana’d black, nudging up, coming from nothing     but her own mothere’...