The fingers have something to do
with the chemical spill and the blood's
ebb and tide inside. Something to do
with the way colours make you feel
when I rub a pinch of some hue
no one really dislikes - even if it's red
and we have witnessed
a dissection after the war has ended,
after the scalpels are thrown back
on to a tray so cold and so steel.
The fingers can make you feel -
I open a flower one petal at a time
until nilch remains of it
except a sense of loss and gain
we lose again and again.