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Bearded Irises

John Muro

On an afternoon adrift

and unmoored by sun,

these beds of irises

betray my grief, long

languishing, ghostly

opulent and eerily

forlorn, even as an

eager earth eases into

Eden. Florid plumes

arc in anguish, and

smoke-soft tongues

leak rivulets of lavender

while hovering standards,

like torn wings,

rise in dappled flutter

above the bereaved

murmur of foraging bees.

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