on the day lightning struck the Vatican, i

roses, 1.1

was drinking wine &
thinking about penitence,
thumbing through possibilities
of ever after. i have known much
of bleeding, after all, of

bea(u)tification, and now
it’s Ash Wednesday, as they say
in the French, and all
the red roses are gone
from my hair, and it’s

raining but
we still dream in blades and
villanelles and other vague
heart shapes.
to our own

very great surprise
we have survived the night,
came through in stereo,
with beads on, and