Your roses will do better in earth, water and air
Than in fire.
And yet, our two hands tight together on the stem
Could only make a burning rose;
Its reds remarkable
For all the passion, petals and blood
That flame and bloom can know.
In the end, it wasn't fire that killed the rose, but rather,
Your letting go.
Then a careless word blew the ashes away--
No forgiveness, no sin,
As if it had never burned
As if it had never been.