God took up a bamboo brush

Dipped it in the space between

his knuckles– drew lilac blood

in drying dew droplets of daffodils.

He said,

“Let me make something so beautiful

that they can almost forget death.”

Licked their foreheads to stick them on like stamps

in a cautious Sakura shrug

or the impending imperfection of

drying rose petals forming bushy mold.

God made the bride’s maids bouquet

of fingernails and bird bones.