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.
