The deep veil.
An exterior with
ruby remnants
turns the color of a
crusted leaf.
Twisted, wrinkly, permanent
a still color.
The color
of a brown rose
until the last petal falls.
We planted in the yard last fall
hundreds, into a hibernating sleep
losing track of them and
keeping score.
In May, the blossoms came
all at once, almost unexpected
the bed kept so many
warm within the blankets.
By August, the blushing shade of
weddings, warmed with summer
they were almost open
pulling away
each succulent piece taut
keeping together the crisp
essence of what lies beneath
each fold and petal.

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