prose poetry

i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
she must go back, she said
the sky
sun stepped down from his golden throne
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
there are gains for all our losses
but i cannot read you now
and my name is truthful
she said
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the arches of the red bridge
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
white foam flower, red flame flower
backward, turn backward