After the Parade Alexandra Mattraw Asunder your small body between iron rungs gating the botanical garden. We broke in and beckoned; night worn rain exploits desire and words I cannot hear. Sense remains even in without; hover cypress you named night laborers whitened each crane hammers cement juniper. They all become ours. I perform myself in the dark: rime grass I think because we can’t see tree dahlias or lupine cords. But air feels heavier where they lean silver whorls. Sagebrush pistils. You only see in reflection, in the next summer you haven’t known, blush hand brush hand. I pretend I am alone. Ice once a sepal, form that deforms, fog wet plumeria, oil blotted weathervane, incendiary; reason forgotten.