KIRKBY ROSE
                      ===========

          Through a crack in the concrete
          My rose springs, savage and young.
          A neat breaker of hair surfs by her face,
          Her teeth are cucumber rind and cool.
          She is proof enough of miracles,
          But through  one yellow summer
          She clung and grew to me,
          As if I was the wonder.
          But I light candles to her,
          Pray to her photo every night,
          Confess to the silence she leaves,
          Longing to drink her wine,
          Taste her bread.