2.
Purple flower with thin petals,
four pistils at the center,
motherly yellow circle.
Nucleus of annals,
nucleus of hope,
the right weight.
Four creatures, snatching a skirt of flaring
yellow. Four with destinies, with their
own maps, their particular lovelinesses
and dues. For an instant, their eyes turn
to the blue sky, to the girdling whiteness,
the glory, and then they fall onto the
river, nearly black. "He had lost
so much blood at the time of the autopsy
that his heart was dry." Like an apricot,
the kind you eat in winter celebrating
The Good News. Gloria in excelsis Deo.