The fog lifts, revealing
solitary stalks coated in dew,
new white ruffles draped over sleek green stems
grazing the grass like a wedding gown,
married to the earth’s need.
If only all love wasn’t meant to be plucked,
pulled from its roots and unearthed,
then everything that blooms
would not always be lost.
Pinch the base of the flower,
pull it from its stem and press your fingers
against the flower’s cheeks,
reveal the jaws of the dragon open wide,
bright yellow throat and fuzzy tongue.
Remember to marvel in delight,
pay homage to the transient nature of all things
before you release the flower
and the jaw snaps shut.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 14, Issue 2.