the congregation of god’s chosen
will find zhe on the mountain
flower in hand
some will say it was a bud
a cherry yet to bloom
others a field lily, a lotus
some a tulip, tall & bright
some will call the flower sermon
call it love, call it death
& they will turn from zhe
to speak its message
& will say we all are flowers picked
& bundled into a bouquet of sand verbena
& primrose, of paintbrush & prairie sage
some will say only zhe is
a flower, a golden daffodil
others will argue the flower is but chaff
to be burned
they will call this all idolatry
for no created thing, neither in heaven
nor on earth is divine
& when the gathered turn back to zhe
to say teach us the lesson of the flower
to ask, finally, is it prayer, is it gift
is it life, are we, too, flowers
they will turn & find only a goatsbeard
big & white & gone to seed