The mandrakes were first to die 

dethroned by marionettes built of flesh and titanium bone.

You did not see your pillaged garden bed 

its soil scarred in places once fragrant 

with the aroma of apples and freedom.

[The clouds were discharged

lest they saw too much]

You stood at sea, veiled in polypropylene

as their scalpels cleaved each wilted corpse 

to cache the fallen purple.

They know you cannot tell 

of what you must believe to see. 

[The stars were extinguished

lest they shone too bright]

In winter, mantle vases will rest empty 

starved of blooms whose blood is on their hands

with you as not their witness. 

You did not hear the mandrakes crying—

their swan songs withered 

[too soon to shed their warnings]

upon the ungentle dawn.