Changeling

Free Verse

By Evie S. via Unsplash

One evening, this evening, nestled
like a revival in reverse. The clouds choked on the engines
and the engines ground the sun. A dog flattened a lawn.
Which breed? Statue. Matte eyes set upon a rose. Indignant petals
wormed and scratched and punctured through the hedgerow.

In Turner’s vase — his solitary piece — flowers reared by fire
press foraged wind in lifting strokes, flaking
at an eyelid’s touch. The storm of limbs
clinging to humanness knows

what sculptors dream of; that the petrified root and capricious stem
are all one remembrance.