February 8, 2025

laurence

A gilded tree in flower or a rose
bush gnarls upward far beyond in height
in girth in execution any posed
and underpaid life model toward the high
glazed skylight in the corner of the room.
Constructed of a living wood, hand carved,
dark polished, like the living it assumes
the sun life giving still, and bears the hard
grained scars of its invention underneath
gold filigree. It is intended to
be set straight on against the wall and seen
for what it holds: its branches by a rude
and obvious art supporting coals that writhe
St. Laurence of Rome upon his pale gridiron.


poem


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