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Five
Roses
Samara Seibel
In the shimmer of just-before-dark,
a flourmill sits on the edge of Montreal's harbor.
At the point where the Lachine Canal joins the Saint Lawrence
River,
streetlight reflections pool around the corrugated metal bases
of tall silos,
their heavy shadows rippling black water.
The mill's brick facade, dappled with patched and broken windows,
leans towards a chain-link fence separating mill yard from canal
bank.
Fragments of traffic signals and high-beams get caught in the
smoky glass,
shuddering and twisting like fresh-hatched spiders.
From the roof, a gray rose reaches into a navy blue sky.
In the afternoon, this flower's petals are hard, angular, closed.
But at night, the petals soften, the petasl open, on and off.
FARINE - Five Roses, blossoms red in the darkness.
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