flowers from another season
a trace in the air
in the stillness of rooms
flowers from another season
days of soft mirrors
and the stone that rolls ever upward
flowers from another season
the urge to perfect
what cannot be created
the drowing collect
like rime in the pipes
the stone that rolls down
to be picked up again
flowers from another season
in the stillness of mirrors
is the flower infected
in the stillness of flowers
is the mirror destroyed
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