Monday, April 9, 2018

The trellis*


The trellis stands by
A wandering rose whose blind and tender shoots
Poke the air, testing
Fingers curled around a tendril twirling itself around the fringes
Of the bent green wood

The triple cord, earnest in its unmoving state between Sun and rose,
Awaits, hurting…

“Come sweet Rose!” it pines,
“Lift up your head and let Him pull you to your feet!
The ground you cling to, even as it calls you to sleep,
Is a deathbed!”

It sweats until its sapless brow, bead by bead,
Moves the rose to weep
And stretch across the gap between where life begins and ends,
Hanging on.


*for my Rose

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