The Rose

The rose
weighs heavy
in his hand.
All around
he feels
their eyes,
upon him,
solemn faces,
flat and gray
as rain-spattered
tombstones.
He gives her
his rose,
weighty with
meaning, but
too late.
Here, all around
stare angels’
faces,
fat and gray
on rain-spattered
tombstones.

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