An Abundance Poem by Karen Solie

Appearing as though they originate in spiritual rather
than material seed, as proof

we don't know how to properly celebrate
or mourn - bindweed and ox-eye daisy, cranesbill, harebell,

haresfoot clover, whose ideology is fragrant
and sticky, the underside of thinking blooming

across centuries. Bountiful arguments
for belief, in equal profusion against it.

My many regrets have become the great passion of my life.
One may also grow fond of what there isn't

much of. Grass of Parnassus -
and when you finally find it, it's just okay.

But look for lies and you will see them everywhere, like
the melancholy thistle, an erect spineless herb

of the sunflower family. That the eradication of desire
promotes peace and lengthens life

is not uncommon advice; still, you can't simply wait
until you feel like it. The beauty of the campions,

bladder and sea, the tough little sea rocket,
is their effort in spite of, I want to say, everything,

though they know nothing of what we mean
when we say everything, it is a sentiment referring only

to itself. Purple toadflax, common mouse-ear,
orchids, trefoils, buttercup, self-heal,

the Adoxa moschatellina it's too late in the year for,
I can hardly stand to look at them.

And all identified after the fact
but for the banks of wild roses, the poppies you loved

parked like an ambulance by the barley field.