The earth folded and unfurled her layers,
forging the green rock veined with the scarlet courage of dragon’s blood
to remind you of what you are becoming.
There is an olive tree blooming in Italy.
There is a gardener planting a mosaic of roses on the boulevard fifty yards from where you work.
There is a violinist wiping a cloth over a bow to meet you in the train station.
I am sifting through a dead tree’s ashes
and looking for small bones pretending to be gold.
Only the clocks were not meant for you.
JADE WALLACE is a legal worker and member of Toronto’s Draft Reading Series whose short fiction, poetry, and essays have been published internationally in The Dalhousie Review, A New Ulster, Acumen, The Chaffey Review, The Town Crier, and seven chapbooks from Grey Borders. Jade also resides online at jadewallace.ca.