Sunday, September 10, 2017

Engraving a rose.

I paused, grief pitched.

It was leaking, ground up.

It was decaying, sky down.

Its canvas was crumpled.
Its fly sheet was fraying.
 Its frame was haggard.

All shrieked of decomposition.

I salvaged a bag of pegs.

The A's, I kept, as keep-sakes

I took four photos.

Its was an unwilling engraving.

It, however, had already become something else.


a rose.