Watch as it spreads and curls like a midnight lily
aching into the open air, blooming with a certain
placidity, a certain un-industrious possibility.

But this is not a world of air. This is a world where
enormous petals of watery bone and compiled time
well-up as a reminder: that what history has planted
we have grown into a black blossom, smoke and fire.

Articles by Anthony Opal

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