by Faye George

Flowers drew me forth

that time when I went out

and the ground beneath my feet

fell away.

I held on to the stems

as the dark pulled me in,

held on as if I clutched

the light of the world in my hand,

not the torn throats

of narcissus blooms.

Through the long night

in the iron earth

I clung to the fickleness

of beauty, the only candle

for the tomb.