Non-Rose Poem by Morgan Michaels

Non-roses, yellow frills of breathing dew,
flirtatious apparitions
flapping stiffening petals like houris their dancing veils,
along the jagged thorns of a non-bush
I pluck you not.

And why not not?
There being so much not to pluck. Lots.
The blank book of life that shuts with a bang so full
of endless, dizzy doings,
and dynasties, stays obdurately open.

By your hand shield your eyes.
Don't stare. Ignore.
Bothersome muses of the void
before the collect

don't let your gaze,
graze or take print
of this Veronica veil, the morning,
and to God
whose gifts aren't worth it
wheelbarrow them back.