the winter anthology
Vol. 13
Nick Flynn
Inside Nothing
A sun-fed engine, the inside
constant, a flower taken
whole. In winter our wings
move faster, to keep the sun
inside, inside nothing
& we fill the nothing with suns,
line them up,
swallow sap, swallow
field, drop by drop, each stem
a pump. Rose to rose to rose to
rose to rose to rose to rose, calyx &
anther, all summer
gone. We move
still faster, fields grow
constant, inside
the color of heat. Clinging we
pull our bodies
across a chain of bodies, become
the chain, climb nothing,
always
up, toward suns, line them up
inside us, a flower taken whole,
a field built inside. It rises.
Each blade, each sun.