He calls it Lover's Tulip,
a magnolia that lays down
a blanket of petals
cupped like palms
that cover the ground
half-turned upward
as if in adoration,
half-turned down
as if to shield the soil,
immodestly pink.

Hikers snap a thousand pics,
crane their necks, phones
and cameras to find
the right angle
for a digitized memory
of bloom and blue sky,
first under the tree
then out from under,
a zoom to a single blossom,
a panoramic to catch
the whole tree, but no angle
completes their wonder,
no distance shot
close enough
and no close up shot
with enough distance,
the way after their first kiss
a young couple shudders
trying to find the right length
at which to gaze
upon each other's face.


© by Jeff Burt.
Used with the author's permission.