Today I was a cluster of roses.
I picked myself from the garden
and stood up in a vase.
I was yellow and red
and all the colors that
people always want roses to be.
I had no song,
but I was not empty.
Instead, I was full of sunlight
and the thought of what it must mean
to truly be at home.
So I gave my home to the wind,
with its innocent lick,
devoid of god
I walked home.
And home, windy but unweathered,
was just the way it always was.