Late Season Pruning

Trellis of his beauty, she—

A God, he created

her in the image of—

[woman, women: bits

                        and pieces]

She is his flower garden.

He plants his roses,

            he cultivates.

Ivy climbs across her back, wrapping


            her sides in formal array.

She sobs for his beauty.

Irises upon irises, violet.

She cannot blink

them away.

Yellow petals fall

from her face, dropping

from wilted stems.  Swept away

by the caretaker’s hand for fresh growth.

She knows

he does not love the soil of her heart

but the garden he has made her.

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