shiny things will rend
and the doubly dubious
does confound
but what of the
low breathy whisper
that gets around
pollen fingerprint
on the petals,
a puff come near
makes it almost disappear
on such as what is,
if you came by,
a moment later,
it would have been
but a memory,
and by then,
the next dream
elapsing,
the next conundrum,
elapsing,
and the pretext
that we call reality,
entirely collapsing
such is ends
as of what ends
are as such
of what I put to them,
I ask
did they think it ever,
ever truly enough,
and after the emptying
I never got back much.
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