Tulips in the Night
An ordinary darkness covers them.
It’s just the night. And they . . . they are only
Tulips. It’s not like death has dragged her hem
Across them. Why not let them be lonely
In their detachment from the sun? But no,
I have to take my camera out and snap
The flowers with its flash. An untoward?* glow
Blossoms on their petals. It’s like a slap
In my deserving face. Why couldn’t I
Have just let well enough alone?
The tulips didn’t think of being sly;
They relish their magenta tone,
Contented as a nun in black and white,
Contented waiting for an inner light.