Pruning the rosebush
the ache of the summer heat
on my shoulders,
the feel of the living stalk
between fingers,
petals - one, another,
then another
seek ground, life
not strong enough to hold on.
Whether it's blood
or petals, the gift
of time is a thread
I stand on,
feet covered
in the soft
broken soil,
shears meet
the slight resistance
of a living thing.
(2005)
