Forsythia

Baby born in amber, sun-
set ready on the horizon pinned in yellow
with the stars gorged below: bad sign, good
lie – it’s all the same. She doesn’t mind;
holds her hands to the skies to test for rain
and all those lost words that flow fluvial
through the bright vein of constellations;
hesitations of sound and light. Her head’s
veiled in night, but her heart’s planted firmly
in the earth – it breaks white water, roots
through rock. Finger on the pulse,
she holds the haunted whorl of a seashell
to her ear, and without fear,
treads earth’s threadbare carousel laced in dulce,
spitting dreams at the seams. Forsythia –
how her puckered mouths scream. Half-choked,
riddled with ghosts, she leaves nothing
but a trace of rabbit feet
pressed in dust. But she’ll survive.
She peels back rust and pulls
the socketed stars from the sky, milking
chaste tears from angel-eyes, and unravelling
faith to reveal the blunt, worm-sucked bones beneath –
dragon’s teeth and the lean face
of an earthenware god,
picked clean.

* * *

It is what it says on the tin really; a poem about forsythia...
Inspired by the song 'Forsythia' by the band Veruca Salt, and the flowers themselves, obviously. There's quite a lot of references to both the lyrics and features of the flowers in the poem, so if you really want to 'get it', I recommend reading the wikipedia page on the plant.
A relatively quick write for me (a couple of hours max. - I usually take days on each piece!). I seem to be able to find the words I want more readily these days...