Poem by Charles Doersch

Deep asters with enough black light

In what seem petals they ignite

Sending up flames no human sees

Smoking with bees


Diving face down in the tangled

Florets of the disks spangled

Hungrily with licks of swollen 

Moments of pollen


In the close heat of the garden where

Two nuns bend their covered hair

Over dark bunches of fuming stars

Close mouths ajar.


Previously appeared in the Edinburgh Review 134 (2012)