Language of Flowers

embrace the water for long civil ends
forget langued stars will watchers displace
sit tentage ruins for thrum around mends
let embrittled language move still disgrace

loud form a soft lancet violence retraced
but let the evening shattering recoil
for what are landward fool’s love food for grace
but embroidered patina of frost soil

a frightened earth’s landtie stood soutache oil
a sentinel matted for shrubs God stole
the indecent worshipped far worse than toil
for this forever sententious hold
earth’s language of flowers speaks seldom faith
but insists a vacuum of pride and hate