A precious artichoke has a heart like a beggar’s
Trampoline. See how it silhouettes,
See its name in print across the chalk line
Of the flywheel. Your birthday was ordained
With a spray of gnats, and you toasted “life”
And “mystery” with your flute of water.
I came to celebrate, but I was years late,
And besides, I have no hands. I cannot change
My bandages. I just lie on this trampoline
While beggars jump for artichoke hearts.