Life Study of a Rose.


Sometimes we need to look
beyond the self to see the
the cartography of light
glimmering on floor.

The rose petals and their lovely disarray.

The glean of splendor.
A seductive mediation.

We think we know so much
We don’t see the petals wilting, like Clytia
our faces turned toward a misconceived heaven.

We don’t notice the air stale
with regret, the glass candles
snuffed out by the sludge of

The roses stripped, bone stick discarded.
Silk once so kissable, now unbearable.

Paradise spent, like two
lover after love before one
falls away.

-Tosha Michelle