I hope for late-flowering -
but the first bloom has yet to appear.
My green fronds remain tireless
and make their way slowly upwards.
Above, something pale, reminiscent
of light, with a hint of stars.
Looking down, there is darkness
mottled with a deeper darkness.
From somewhere food is given
and small air seeps cautiously
in – enough that I can continue
leaf by leaf, extending my thin
spine – hoping that one day
bright arrows will pierce
like Sebastian – the
sudden bolts of being there –
and a great orange flower
will bulge into fullness –
and all the reasons will be clear.