i saw a rose in the sky,
pale pink marauding echoes of the faltering sunset,
over a white turreted church of southern america,
wooden doors barred against the enrapture of sin.
the trees whispered to each other in silent reverie and
mockery of the complex mechanical
shaping of the lands around,
founded on their ancient,
archaic roots,
stretching through the cores and mantles.
the sky is an encroaching,
collapsing thing, blues fading into
yellows and the greens
of the grasses and plains,
stricken with the
black & white ballistics
of arched zebra backs
stretching forever across the regions of
anatomical make-up and wiring.
Author notes
traveling on a backroad,
twilight,
it was an image.
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