When I come to the lair of the river dragon I find flowers in a vase among the buckets of old nails and brushes. I see betrayal in the long arms of blossoms the color of sunlight.
“You’ve been entertaining someone young and beautiful,” I accuse. The pain of it cracks me molten. “How could you lie to me like this?” I pound on him and wail.
He catches my wrists in his fists and holds me, “Listen,” he says. “Look. It’s you. You bring the flowers here. It’s you.”
There are flowers blooming in his hands where he holds me. Every blow I had landed left a blooming on his chest. The floor around us is strewn with petals. “It’s you my love,” pulling me in to him. “It’s you my love. It’s you.”
Though dark doubts assail me
I return to this knowing
I am the flower at the heart of my days
I am the flower.