I am very busy picking up stems and stamens as the hollyhocks leave their clothes around. - Emily Dickinson

punctual as a star,

Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door — Red — is the Fire’s common tint — But when the vivid Ore

Has vanquished Flame’s conditions — It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the Light
Of unannointed Blaze — Least Village, boasts it’s Blacksmith — Whose Anvil’s even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs — within — Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the designated Light
Repudiate the Forge —

Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve,
and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it.