Rose Wind

Michael Battisto

We cut away the others 
to let you live.
As you grew

we cut away the garden,
which had only been practice
for you.

We cut away 
the streets,
the hills.

We cut away the town,
perched in its voices.
We cut away

the night in its high tree.
Now you are 
our vast cathedral,

and the wind around you
is an erasure of roses
we did not let live.

Michael Battisto (he/him) has work that can be found or forthcoming in About Place Journal, The Shore, MoonPark Review, Frogpond, and Modern Haiku. Born in Chicago, he lived in New York, Wyoming, Arizona and Texas. Now he lives in Oakland, California. He loves it when people say hello to him on Twitter @mbattisto3.