Poppies in July Ned Rorem

Little poppies, little hell flames
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth

A mouth just bloodied
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes that I cannot touch
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule
Dulling and stilling

But colorless. Colorless