The Rose

Dreaded horned Ahmhuluk 
hid with black folded wings
in an ice cave west of Hill Hook
while the red sun set sings
into a blue ocean of rings.

With Simone de Beauvoir 
in wearisome repose
by our lonesome campfire
as the dark night will close
with gentle arms & guelder rose.

A forgotten sadness falls 
from distant Betelgeuse.

The silver full moon stalls
by a ghost of a rose lost long ago.

I awoke to the calls
of a grey haired woman 
in a flowing red dress
her great beauty to me befalls.

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