I saw a trail
of flowers
leading to
the stairwell

as I brought the
groceries in,
through the building's lobby

the plastic handles digging ditches in my hands

I saw the fallen
geraniums, pink,
coupled by old,
and drying leaves
and scraps of stem,
buds who
never had the chance to bloom

I saw
the perfect path
to follow,
or a path to
walk away.

You're digging ditches in my hand.