Lately he has been caring for orchids—

•74/ —his thick fingers fondling the fibrous mulch, the slender stalks, the temperamental blossoms erupting in a row— each one an exclamation point of release, an exaggerated ‘oh’ of pornographic movies—or a strand of pearls arching forward in partial flight— better yet— time lapse photography, a central plains fruit bat leaning into motions across a room, seven stilled moments brought together, lunar phases, Pan whispering to each open mouth, sighing.
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