I have been wondering
what the morning glories
know. Is it envy
that compels these vines
to strangle other flowers
arising in their path?
Or perhaps self-preservation,
to climb these walls, forsaking
humbler beings, winding
greedy stems around the trellis
in their hungry pursuit of light.
Still, every morning,
basking in their spiral shadows,
I want to believe it is something more
this fevered yearning
to open purple flowers,
yield bold-throated Glorias
to the sun,
and in the blaze of afternoon
curl petals softly into shyness.
And every morning, I plead
with the dew-moist buds
to know their secret joy:
to open and close without holding,
to surrender all to light,
to sing
I am completely yours
over and over again.