The bud



stands for all things,



even for those things that don’t flower,



for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;



though sometimes it is necessary



to reteach a thing its loveliness,



to put a hand on its brow



of the flower



and retell it in words and in touch



it is lovely



until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;



as Saint Francis



put his hand on the creased forehead



of the sow, and told her in words and in touch



blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow



began remembering all down her thick length,



from the earthen snout all the way



through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,



from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine



down through the great broken heart



to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering



from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:



the long, perfect loveliness of sow.





