NARROW FLOWERS

I am a gray lily.

My roots are deep.

I cannot lift my hands

For one thin yellow butterfly.

Yet last night I grew up to a star.

My shade swirled mistily

Seven mountains high.

I lifted my face to another face.

The moon made a burning shadow on my brow.

Washed by the light,

My sharp breasts silvered.

My dance was an arc of mist

From west to east.