The vivid shadow
Of the starfish cactus
In the foreground
Of a greenish puddle
Captive in its ocher pot
How did its lovely flowers
Come to stink of rotting flesh
Was it from jealousy or despair
When the ancient sea departed
Being neither fish nor star
Stranded on the desert floor
Five-petaled cup flies come to sip
And in the center preserved in oil
The little face of love no more
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