there’s blood
between the cracks in stone
someone has left it there
tiny, congealing spheres
like planets
whole
and undisturbed
perhaps the blade was too new
or the hand gone rogue in a too-small kitchen
or, perhaps, in some frantic war
the red settled into piles
of chalky rubble
in between the stones
in obvious relief
bright and tired and exposed to the sun
Siena Rose 
This poem echoes thoughts about death in a very accepting, relieving way. The blood is finally relieved of all its work. That word ‘relief’. I love the way she goes from the ordinary world in the kitchen to war, and then to the sun and the planets. It is such an original, deep poem.
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