To Standardise A Dye To Dye All Clothes Poem by Mark Heathcote

The path creation takes diverges in all directions.
No one route is acceptable.
It must be like water filling a precious Ming vase.
Awaiting the gardener and the florist
attending to finish the last arrangements,
augmenting the final display of a corpse
in the funeral parlour. It is an overexposed film.
That sometimes mistakenly gets it right.
It is an idyllic space that is rapidly disintegrating.
A memory so fleeting it is hard even to believe
It existed in the hands of one
Who plucked a lily bloom or crushed a rosebud?
To standardise a dye to dye all clothes.