see the head of a rose on the ground and begin to take pictures, inconspicuous? not really, but I’m not bothering anyone two inches from the stones… eventually standing, I reach down again and put the flower in my bag (maybe I’ll press it), thinking to myself that there really had been a lot more flowers before, wondering where they all went, I can’t figure it out… turning to leave I see


The base of the flag blanketed in a sea of Cuban colors and white petals…
and all of a sudden I realize I’m soaked to the bone,
but don’t really feel cold…


the big picture wraps around me like a handmade quilt,
and in my wet warmth I reach out,
tossing my dilapidated flower
on the top of the pile.


may 2004


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words