Ghost Orchid. Poem by George Moore

My world is overly large,
while among the southern vines
lies a universe within an ear.
River stamen with carpel rafts
on white waterfall tongues
drifting toward the sea
of the pollinareum.
The year punctuates beauty
as a single wave, carrying no
human meaning. Even its name,
Polyradicion, belongs to another time.
I lift a leaf to see into its secret
and disappear into the
stillness of its jungle.
A giant Sphinx moth orbits
this solar system, praying
to its nightly gods. Its rings,
like Saturn’s, are fixed
against a blackgreen eternity.
Its ovaries, seed-thick with time,
fall soundless into the void.
Out of which flourishes
a walking petal, a child suspended
on a swing, a center that cannot
be known. The flower may
long for speech, a visual radicalism,
its slender arms reach around
the world it does not greet.
Its longing separates us
forever, for we are different creatures
of a single species. It’s loneliness
is never held up against a day
where night does not cover it.
Its longing is annual, endless
but brief.
San Gimignano 5
I’ve published poems in the Atlantic, Poetry, Colorado Review, and recently, or forthcoming, in Stand, Arc, and Antigonish Review. My most recent collections are Saint Agnes Outside the Walls (FutureCycle 2016), Children’s Drawings of the Universe (Salmon Poetry 2015), and The Hermits of Dingle (FutureCycle 2013). After many years of teaching with the University of Colorado, Boulder, I am presently living on the south shore of Nova Scotia in a small lobster fishing village. Ouzman Hislop All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop the Babble of the Souk