Lamb, Flower, Petal


Lamb
Flower
Petal
Little cherry
He calls you
And your smile is a strand
of something

Your fingers hugging
The rim of your glass

After you leave people will
Roll their eyes
Think of you
As a tossed and silent vessel

But they didn't see
Those quiet fingers
In patient command of
That delicate flute
Charged with a raging sea
And you were the bubble
Around which the noise and the smoke
Could make stead

Your smile, your absent smile
of something
The only strand in the field
To be facing the other way


© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013