Open Day Over

There was a light behind the hedge beside the path
placed to lead the lost on their way home
over dead-nettles, into an ideal called 'nectar'.
She dropped the imperfect flower, off-white and tainted;
not pristine, nor with meaning, but for me.
Something dusted with pollen, below depth
(the garden, convulsing around her, "in spasm").
I took it as a keepsake, when she discarded it.
Those torn petals. The pattern she extended into me.

9 of 9 from the sequence
The Marker, excerpt from
Ha Ha [Andrew Jordan, Shearsman Books 2007]