To A Milkweed

by Deborah Digges

Teach me to love what I've made and judgment in that love.
Teach me your arrogance, with each five-petaled horned flower teach me how much blossoming matters along roadsides, dry-beds, these fields no longer cleared.
Teach me such patience at each turning, how to live on nothing but will, its milky juices, poison to others, though when its stem is broken bleeds.
Teach me to need the future and the past.
Let me be tricked into believing that by what moves in me I might be saved,
and hold onto this.
Hold onto this until there's wind enough.

(Thank you, Aliza)