A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Wind swept, storm tossed
							adrift
I try
		to anticipate a blooming beauty born of blood
but all I see is Adonis in the throes of death
and all I hear is agonal breathing
punctuated by pitiful plaints of pain,
								and I witness
hope and beauty budding
from the dirt my tears have watered,
but will it (like him) be short-lived?