ALL WEEK LONG, THE IRIS HAVE UNFOLDED,
shaping the air with their colored wings.Their song is invisible; they speak in tongues,
as along each stalk, they break out in flight.
They cannot bear their beauty, but arc to earth,
as I come by to cut them free.
I wrap the blooms in thinnest tissue,
present them to a neighbor,
and her face breaks out in petals
and her eyes are full of sky.
~Barbara Crooker
