by P. G. Karamesines
On the east rim the fire rose blossoms,
Its pink-gold tongues
Blushing rock and sand,
Licking up night’s tinajas.
In sand grains beneath me,
The coolness of stars €”
Those winking violets
That glamour the shadow.
My face
Inclines to the light.
Hands soften, spread €”
Blood blooms.
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Originally published in Glyphs III: Poems and Stories of the Colorado Plateau, Moab Poets and Writers Inc. Regional Anthology, 2007, p. 132
Wilderness Interface Zone 
Beautiful imagery, Patricia. I especially like the comparison between the blossoming flower and the blossoming of blood in the body. What a striking connection between the human and the plant worlds.
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.
Ah, very nice. The effect was intensified, for me, because it took me so long to recognize I was withing the flower’s pov.
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Tyler and Th.,
First off, I really appreciate you guys reading, commenting, and submitting pieces to WIZ. Thanks muchly!
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Tyler,
This poem is extracted from an unpublished prose piece describing my first trip ever to the desert and first exposure to desert sunrise, an experience that completely turned my head. My life flew off in an unexpected direction following this trip.
Taking a closer look at the words as they were embedded in their prose surrounds, I thought that with a little reshuffling they might make a nice little poem. Thanks for noticing.
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Th.
That’s an interesting little typo you’ve got there in “withing.” I like it, a withe being a supple plant branch or twig used to bind other things together. “Withe” as a verb is uncommon, but I’ll be using it that way from now on.
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