The heat has wilted my morning glory.

It closes its petals by eight.

By noon it's steeled itself

Against the bright burning blazes

And hot winds.

But even in its dormancy,

I see its dove-like gray underpetals

Shining in a placid sleep.

It sways, transcendentally beautiful,

Folded in its protective cocoon.

An unknown tune has hypnotized,

And now, my flower, hypnotizes me,

Convinces me to dream, too,

And come and bloom

When it does, for the moon tonight.

-jenn