Confidence
grew like kudzu
into
overconfidence, to throttle
all the
other vines in the garden.
In my
impatience, I exposed
an
offshoot before it could
begin
to tap down root.
Forgive
me. I should've said
that
the tapers barely answer
your
inquisitive glance,
that a
culinary phantasia
was set
before you in only one
setting.
Did I say there was music?
It was
only an echo of glass,
silver-backed,
& filled up with
Clair
de Lune, & that ultimate
question,
in sad answer
to the
moon in your eyes,
ought
to have asked who it was
who
scored these subtitles
to
translate you. No wonder
I
remain invisible. You should
better
love my compound leafery,
&
appreciate my reddish purple flowers,
without
worrying whether the name
comes
from the ancient Chinese.
I am
fodder & forage for you.
[New
Orleans Review]