Plucked From the Flowerbed

Death was walking along a riverbank.

Wind, electric grass, cicada-epileptic trees

As though overcome by the summer's stare,

The mosaics and bells of flower, breeze

Of meditation unfurled some namelessness.

The man plucked two lovers and went back home.

Death unlocked his door, put the two in a vase.

Death watered them responsibly each day.

Death was comforted, and called them marriage and love.

Death had plucked others before and after.

The vase sagged with morality and conscience and duty;

The vase heaved heavily with justice and charity;

The shoulds and should nots became the vase's eyes.

The virtues multiplied, so the vices did too.