Into the Light

It’s not pretty –
a slowly folding rose blossom
caught in the lush orange light
that only comes briefly
on days’ ends in winter.
It’s not pretty –
viewed through grime
a window sill littered in dry dead flies,
a black widow hanging
like a turkey buzzard’s teardrop
between glass and sundered screen.
It’s not pretty –
petals plucked and dropped in wine.
It’s not pretty –
until the wine is gone
and perennial petals line stomach walls
and dance on down to the dim light at the end of the tunnel.


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