Intertwined Mishaps

Pink petals on cold stone
as the wind picks up and the
underbelly of the clouds darken
to black. Black like
the crow's feathers and like
pill bugs burrowing into the ground
or rolling in the hand of a child.
Shoe prints in the moist ground that
show me you were here,
maybe moments ago, maybe hours.
I kneel beside the pink velvet
and pray for the storm to pass.