Cushions of thyme have two
forms of blossoms on hermaphrodite

or only female plants.
Bees and butterflies gather feminine nectar

and as for us, we day trip into a nameless town.
All the hotels are closed

except the one with small tables.
They're almost too small. Or, too tall.

You describe how past and present
blur inside the story

of another man in another nameless
town where face to face with his girlfriend

from a different world he thinks of love
and he loves his wife

the same as he knows he loves
his girlfriend from a different world.

Soon, he's discussing which plants
have pollen and which ones wait wide open

as if inside an ancient temple.
Or a hotel room. If it comes to that you

should understand I carry many names
and when I cry these names

in the night it will be for my loves
that are dead yet blossom in the wild.

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Author's Note: Title taken from "The hermaphrodite of time / who is neither day or night . . ." by Yehuda Amichai