EQUATION WITHOUT FLOWERS
BY MAURICE OLIVER
A sign tells you
where to park. Later,
in a letter from Tim
he writes, "experts
say dreams don't mean
a thing." She imagines
a lush garden within
herself. On a hill
above the landing
strip. A sky hovering
at the edge of an
afternoon snow.
The remains of an
ancient fence now
just a half-hearted
gesture. In a painting
oiled in bruised years.
A neighbor stares from
his porch. No one's been
buried here in years.
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