Two Blooms

One bloom, newly burst from bud,

the other, curling inward at its browning edges.

Side by side this riot of red and that bruised purple,

one can't be seen without the other.

Apex and initiation,

both turned toward the blush of dawn.

Are we no less an unfolding bloom?

Now this; later that.

Blending the hues of being with becoming,

we are saturated in the immediate

and shaded by the approaching.

Bend to neither; offer no sacrifices or ablutions,

and, in the spaces between,

watch the soul greet the coral splash of each day's break

both born anew and complemus.