Old Roses at Night

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One day
night starts and it's still light—
you wouldn't mind, would you,
if I turned on the dawn?

I watch you walk through the cemetery
in search of old roses, untainted,
original-real-thing, like roses were
maybe a hundred years ago.

Night-lights shine on your roses
as they strike a pose for the camera crew—
the dew sparkles like regular words,
it was beautiful a long time ago.

Pluck pluck pluck the flowers like they're virgin girls
(because they wanted it)
splash over a puddle of whiskey night
and let the festivities begin.