Black Roses

A garden of black roses,
a busted cross – dark eglantine.
A ruined plaster saint around whose hip
an ancient vine entwines.
Black roses for the bedside,
black roses for the bed,
stone fruit upon the table,
stone clouds up overhead.
The cottage on the cliff
that you once stayed in as a child
has fallen into disrepair,
the garden let run wild.
Stone flowers for your garland,
dead laurel for your head,
black roses for the bedside,
black roses.

[first posted 26 November 2014]