When a flower is tricked to bloom too soon,
the secrets of its bud unfurling,
it does not see that small, dark eye
that murders frame by frame;
and all things tend towards this end
for life is a silver fish leaping,
like tiny suns its scales burn
as it bends its back upstream.
Then is revealed the truth of the thing
when comes the final flourish:
what grace and courage beauty bears
when darkness drags it down.
©Abigail Wyatt, 2012