Châtelet Station (La mort d’une rose)

wide-eyed owl sat staring
on his perch

telephone lines
slightly lurch

as dozens of birds lift off;
scan across the fading moon

in perfect linear motion
as awestruck tourists loom

silence rules the day
clouds banished from the skies

then depressed grey clouds
and complimenting cries

lakes of water swallow the ground
sorrow at morning light

the sharp silicon sky
shattered by pairs of cool white

one person strides through the rain
she has no refrain

for she is on a mission
and cannot afford mortal pain

a rose held tight in one hand
she takes a call

crossing the street
she trips, a fall

adrift in the air
surrounded with gasps

ajar against asphalt
her hand slowly unclasps

and the rose from her hand
as the cries from the skies

drifts quietly down to the pavement
and silently dies

flashes of blue and red light
loudspeakers shout

mere minutes go by
and they’re already out

the white and black street
bustling once more

with parents and children
out to the store

still left lying in the street–
a tragedy ill-fit for prose

the loss of a love,
la mort d’une rose.