The Epiphyllum, an air plant, blooms once a year. The rest of the year it’s dull, flat brownish green. When it blooms, the whole garden glows.
One year, while auditing a class on prosody, I wrote a cinquain about it:
Bee in the Epiphyllun
From squat
slabs of cactus
they flame up, these giant
scentless siren calls. Even I
want in.
