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Topiary
I cannot know twisted Henriette of the plant kingdom Engrafted with a crutch. And yet her bulbous concerns Effuse a solid blue from inside, Like a steel Dryad, and her gaze effaced Shines with distended power. Otherwise These clusterjewels would not dazzle us so, As limbs proliferate through her pulped brain From dendrites where creation flared And this crippled tree would seem defaced, J’Accuse! beneath the lace of this clipped sister And would not glisten in synaptic blasts Would not, from all the reaching boughs of self, Burst like ripe sapphires: for here there is no place That does not see you. You shake forth a nest.