Whippoorwill’s-boots


when we first met

I remembered

the flesh-eating wildflower

that sprouts from acid bogs

near where I grew up


not because they must

deceive to live

or because their yellow

flowers hang

face downward

shying away

from the crane-white moon

not because the stalks

grow long, graceful, bare


I remembered them

because the leaves

and the flower

seem separate plants

upon first glance

but the wild

know they meet, connect

unseen underground

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