The moon crushes us with romance
The sun ignites us in the dance

Instead, bend low, and find the tiny rose's thorn
before the green and growing takes it all forlorn

Enchantment carved on wrists with Mother's knives
looks inward at the detail of our lives

The moss in bloom, its minuscule pyres
the green and gilded flame, the sparkling fires



jjl
13 April 2008