125 292
ten poems
125
with jagged claw and beak
long before the bespoke cruelty of man.
So comes the crow, long before
the dreaded wedding bells
and the clip-clop of wedding shoes
on sun baked paving stones,
incongruent in the long upswing
as our own unflattering repose –
where love’s lost once more,
long lost in petals of the white rose.