imagine me
a black-eyed Susan
sipping coffee one morning
astonished that her fingers
are not stirring the cream
but something else was
round and round whipping up
white caps in her cup
spilling tears
over a dam rim too thin
to stifle an outburst of Niagara
dead cells sprout blossoms
between her toes
and petals open on her face
after a winter of sapless grace
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