I get the obsessive collection
of beauty riotous,
coveting colors one hears
with the eye. A tulip
broke, as if by the stroke
of a resolute violin bow;
red-feathered line
like a lingering tune—
the poor Dutch dupes!
Poor droops,
loved so hard they all died.

Once, I licked a white petal.
Once, I held a bulb
in my mouth like light.