by Aidan Andrew Dun
for Genie Poretsky-Lee
Provoked by daisies in common hordes,
their improper blossomings everywhere,
the subtle and august magnolia,
the swan of flowers, has opened at last.
Immaculate chalice into which the sun
pours the great heat of spring again,
transport one to the Faerie Queen,
let it be suspended above her table,
the long countryside spread out
with obelisks and dragon-hills,
a chandelier of snow-covered glass:
white tongues, suggestive flames,
a hundred ivory candles in midair.