Theodore

He asks for a word, any word. From there, in front of everyone and God, begins the quest for a thousand flowers. Lacing vowels and consonants to yield forsythia, foxglove, hibiscus, mallow. How we hear we see his tall self open faced admiring what has not yet come. The room fills with fragrance as yet unnamed and a closeness we will only know when we look back on this night. He smiles as though he will live forever. What color are his stanzas beyond their steadfast and miraculous surprise?

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