Orchid Farm
 xxxxSorrento, Florida

Each small explosion
xxxx of blossoms
xxlooks as if crafted by hand,

by women
who’ve traveled from their homelands for this
xxxxxxlabor. Migrant

a word that means just keep going.
xxxSpecies. Propagation. Everything an exotic
xxxxxxlanguage, even the calling:

xx Conjure, sisters,
xxxxxx they’ve been told, but don’t touch
xx the petals with your skin.

xxxxxx Don’t worry, señor, we know how
xxxxxx to leave no fingerprints.

 That kind of coaxing,
xxxxxx an industry so delicate
xx it’s tucked warm inside a cove called nursery.
Tender inklings

xxxxxx fashioned with full Latin names
too arduous to pronounce
xxxxxx are distilled to a chant:

xxxxxxxxx snip, replant, atomize, repeat.
xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx Here’s another
xxxxclay cup of strata & airborne roots.
Go ahead, take the light

xxxxxx xxxxxx that’s offered you, sisters,
xxxx but remember, these walls are not mist,
xxxxxx xxxxxx but a hard transference.

xxxxxx xxxxxx So, while you are here,
keep your siren hands rough and busy,
xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx but glisten

to each other’s songs. There’s momentum
xxxxxxin longing, the shared & heady pollen,
xxxthe honey-seed crooned raw and insistent
xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx into green throated ovules,

 xxxxxx xxxxxx then wait, sisters, wait
xxxin your own luminous skins,
xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxfor reciprocation,

xxxxxx xxxxxfor those furled notes to open—
exquisite & silent in the air.