White Dahlias
T Tom Billsborough
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I am the outward show
Just as these brief white flowers
Which sense and gather
In experience
And then become these
Lanterns of pale yellow
Which hang below the filaments
With completed and discreet potential.
Turn off the light!
So that our sleep's renewal
Keeps us warm
Within its dreamy capsule
Until the morrow's waking hour
When seeds disperse
And we invent new words
To populate our songs.
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