portion of the artwork for John Myers's poem

Wherein be as marigolds,

half vestige and
all bloom and re-
peat for me for
the garden knows
to be for me
beautiful. Oh,
my little
cooling slender
flexible ton
of a million
flowers at the
edge of tearing,
stamen-pounded,
to steal the sun
for a moment
I pretend I
guess I am
a bee or the
curl of butter-
fly you would see
as light, as us,
as exclusive
as tonight and
aroused and brave
fluent and a-
touring inside
our seesaw where,
transparently,
no one but we
is allowed. How
else am I to
find you where wind
matches sky or
who better knows
allegiance to
quivering, this
strong of bees, we
both err on the
unantlered side
of the organ
I thought we’d be
able to cache
but even this
revocably
together, we’ve
been furled, unfurled,
we shudder.

—John Myers


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 30 | Fall 2010