a Columbine flower,
a blazing reddish orange thing,
with heart of yellow,
a clustered tendril thing,
a green stem, impossibly thin,
springing from gray rocks

they
shiver, dance, and bow
to the will of the wind’s
mood

unlike its siblings and cousins
the Columbine
stares downward
earthward

not to the heavens
but hellwards

a lonely band of
rainbow

a tired, knowing flower,
among the forget-me-nots

how like the Columbine
i feel