Boreal Flower

 
the flower screaming
in the creases of the night
the afternoon screaming
your sunsets
its dawns and the
long night
leans out the window
and watch the procession pass
the night is still in the churchyard
loaded with wounds
the night falls from the eyes
of insomniacs and falls asleep
in the bed of all rivers
the night peers
the unfathomability.