anthurium raze your winter coat is a staggered wreath of green hearts. i count fifteen. each vein a slender finger of vascular tissue. a shimmer of gold carries all the unseen branches and fibers that keep you fed, bisected by grey lines. the container sounds a note when it's struck. a perfect fifth above middle c. you're drawn to ancillary light. painted tongue plant. flamingo flower. a single red spathe flares from the base of a stout spike, the spadix a stalk of baby sweetcorn, perfect in its imperfection. a stand-in for the prow of the face i love best. 220311 ... raze the first flower was clipped after it turned brown and died. two more rose up in its place. they grew together before pulling just far enough apart to stare into each other's eyes. i tried to untangle a few strangled stems and snapped the neck of a leaf that hadn't opened yet. i waited a long time for it to crumble and lose its colour. after weeks of nothing, a long green tongue unfurled, shiny with sputum and sweat. now the open wound my fingers made forms a hinge. a caustic mouth frozen mid-thought. there's barely enough skin left to support the head of the thing, but what won't ever heal has refused to collapse. and two new flowers are coming in. one a tiny finger pointing skyward. the other a scarlet bract almost ready to unlatch its crossed arms. 220720 ... raze today all four of your floral gifts are in full bloom. 220819 ... raze for the first time since you came to me, only one scarlet scabbard stands between your fronds. this time there's no reason to believe another will rise to join it before it fades away. 231229 what's it to you? who go blather from