Untitled

Turn to the south and see
the moment of your orphanage. First
one and then the
other and you will know
beyond all doubt
from their blind faces
that they will not remember
or see
until the time of your death. You
are alone
and this is true. All your life you have
picked wildflowers
only to learn
which ones keep
and which ones wilt
regardless of the adequacy
and manner
of their keeping. Turn to the north now. They
will not come for you. Use the
roughened edge
of your finger
to pull
and then quick snap
all the stems. Gather them up
your found flowers
in the colors
and species
and mixing
of your liking. They will be with you
gone to death on a hot dashboard
neatly in a jelly jar
tucked up behing your ear
or in your buttonhole
for all this time to come
before they are laid
or come
all on their own
to life
on your grave. They will come to you
at your death
and all before. Turn to
true north
and leave the south
to its own
weak exposure.