Rosebeam

Unusual for you to wake me,

for a moment I was concerned but

as I turned the curtains were aflame

with the blush of an early marmalade sun

spread full across the window,

there being few leaves on the damson yet

to hinder it.

Your arm was bolt upright, 

finger pointing to the ceiling, signposting the light,

an upside-down bouquet, an explosion

of twelve individual rosebuds in Lalique glass.

Through a slim crack in the curtain

one flowerhead, just one, was brilliantly

illuminated.

In these disturbing times

it was a sign you said.

*

© Graham Sherwood 03/2020