The Moon Lily
It was a room full of noses;
slanted, curved, bumped; and breathing,
a simultaneous
inhalation
from slim nosed, beak-like noses;
the noses of black tie
socialites
with complexes
and clean cut, high chins
In a great movement of conformity,
the congregation lifted and lowered
their shoulders
together,
carrying on
with their canards, their satiric muckraking
In the center of this mess
their saving grace, their moonlight Lily
a mythological reality.
It burgeoned
and they quieted to watch
all holding their aristocratic breaths
blue-faced, as blue as their blood
The Lily bloomed, the people cried
out loud
too shocking was it all
when the beastly beauty
the moonlit blossom
the dewdrop petals
suddenly turned to ash
and crumbled beneath the moonlight
a short, dispassionate death.
