Winifred Hughes


How does the apple blossom know
to shape itself within a perfect pentagram,
unfurl blank petals only and always

numbering five, pull apart from the bud
in more directions than the compass allows,
leave the apple to bear a five-pointed star

in its heart. And the daisy opening its eye
unfolds the florets in logarithmic lines
that intersect one another, clockwise

and counter, beading slowly into seed
along the measured intervals of song.
Galaxies unwind from a single node

as our bodies radiate, center to verge:
this is the shape of the world, coiled
helix, blown petals on the grass.