Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose

A family of glassblowers, a river road

unturned to loam. Sing the molt

to second skin, layer, the wings

found on our lawn like petals before fruit.

In spring, in bloom, in lantern

given by a child, in light

flimsy as wax paper, come violent

as storms in youth, come melancholia yellow

lilies thrown at your feet by a lover,

the father, the rose, come starless dusk

draped in orange shutters, carnations

in parade, come inside, mother

says, show me what you’ve made.