Flowers without names

Today I saw a flower of which I did not know the name. It had a low bushy frame, upon which were arranged five clusters of flowers, and each cluster thereof was a cone of which, from tip to hilt, the hue shifted from pink to orange, like little sunset spears. And it smelled nice.I kept an eye out after that. I saw thick-veined viscera leaves, globes of baby blue asterisks, pale porcelain street lamps, leggy pom-poms with drooping heads—cheer up cheerleader! the bees love you for you!My partner can put names to flowers, which is a kind of magic. The same is true for anyone familiar with birds and bugs (the kinds that aren’t ants or beetles or flies: the potpourri) and rocks and cetera. In my eyes, they have a claim to these subjects I do not.The word for great subject knowledge is mastery. Is this mint or milkweed? The master knows. The flower belongs to its master, who keeps its name in a box. Master, master! Open the box! (Thankfully, the kind master made the front of glass.)I am the…