A single crimson poppy flutters in weedy grass,
catches the light like blood
Wasn’t that grand, we ask
just there for us to find
You didn’t mean to say like blood, did you?
The damaged ceiling comes down to
reveal a beam singed by fire
What you can’t see hides in silence
with a ragged-clawed animal that
Lives on flesh, then sets the world alight
On its day off it might give the wind a seed
to play with and drop at will
Hence, our shimmering poppy
On another day, we’ll say it
glows like that ruby stone in the ring I
Gave you back, saying I can’t, not now
maybe not ever
Photo by Monica Galentino on Unsplash
