Jack in the Pulpit

The Jack in the Pulpit folds

over itself like a safety pin.

It's deep

in the woods, the hatchling

of a dream in which

the red-veined

and phallic manages

to seduce you with

the graceful curve

of vestments. You might

like to think of it

as a small ship

with sail unfurling

toward a New World,

the excitement

of discovery- yours- but

it acts more like

a held tongue,

because when you can't go

anywhere, privacy

becomes your grace.

What did Donne know,

or Jonathan Edwards?

The air itself curls,

and down inside, only

a hummingbird is able

to figure it out.