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,
up, toward suns, line them up

inside us, a flower taken whole,

a field built inside. It rises.
Each blade, each sun.