Cyclamen Anemone Asphodel Poem by Marc Radzyner

olive trees all gnarled within,
conceal their flowering,

spring has passed
the former rains and the latter rains
are done-

blood anemone rooted and spread
in rock and field,
asphodel and cyclamen

are over,
their cycles done−

your mouth firm
your eye firm
your hand firm saying
it shouldn't get better than this

the first hot winds
breathe in our faces
now is the time for
the silk thistle
the blue globe thistle
the purple sharp-leaved
sword thistle−

you paused in your orchard between the trees,
in the middle of building
in the middle of planting
in the middle of painting
looked around
and turned to me
ah Mordecai, careful,
it won't get better than this