Like a graceful gash in space

the desperate philodendron

spills its best flesh forward

from a shadowed vintage flask


twisting features toward the sill

flailing blindly for the light

as a gaping wound screams

for the healing oxygen of air.


No subtlety in its passion,

no fear of naked revelation,

no shame to be forgiven.

To be is to becoming.


Jerome L. McElroy