Paperwhites

Little Februaries, they

unbind themselves, pages

sweetening the air.

Little petals, not fit

for grieving, ornately

frail. Petals sheer as sheets,

as raw and spare. Stems,

thin straws of green, needles

drinking the dirt —

unspooling the white

bulb into blossom. Lips

parting open their pale

veils. Green veins poured

into tiny cups of ivory air.

Green straws — green pencils —

throats through which a shallow

dark is drawn. White notes

birthed and nursed. A white song

scored — forced out — little breaths

exhaled. Sweet wreaths for rooms.

Sweet wraiths exhumed. Eyes

opening the whites

at the end of their lines.