dark flower

the dark flower
of your character
above a red bole

brush-stroke petals
sweep the page
stamen black-tipped

other characters hug
the edges and speak
a language I cannot
like a crowd of visitors
arriving at Terminal B

characters crowd
the plane we inhabit
together but distinct

together but distinct
we create a text
crammed with life
like a fruit ripened
that splits and bursts
the limits of its skin