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Southernmost Love Poem
Rex Wilder

The hibiscus that ventures out from under
The banyan tree never looks out of sorts or bloom,
But in fact each rich red affair is a matter of a day
Or two at best, a miracle of compression
If not confusion-at once a grand opening gala
And a going-out-of- business sale--
Like the thunderstorms that hang out their staticky
Laundry beneath the cloudless tropic blue,
Or the beautiful red-haired woman who lifts
Her skirt hip-high wading out to the rocks,
Taking a walk and a swim at the same time,
Afraid to miss nothing. Even I, admiring
Her grace against the current to the point of tears,
Keep the apology that would end our quarrel
Straining on its leash. Since perfection is,
Among our imperfect kind, no more, I suppose,
Than perfect balance, our love leaves nothing
To be desired, only occasionally adjusted for,
The way the wind snaps off fresh blossoms
To make way for a restless procession of buds