Non-Rose

Non-roses, yellow frills of breathing dew,
airy apparitions
flapping your stiffening petals like houris their dancing veils,
along the jagged thorns of a non-bush
I pluck you not.

And why not not?
There is much nought to pluck. Lots.
The blank book of life that shuts with a bang so full
of endless, dizzying doings,
of dynasties, stays obdurately open.

By your hand shield your eyes.
Don't stare. Ignore.
Bothersome muses of the void
before the collect

don't let your gaze
graze or take print
of this Veronica veil, the morning,
and to God
whose gifts aren't worth it
wheelbarrow them back.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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