Strewn about the vase
the petals a vestige
of a gone beauty
randomly, perhaps
Gathering the withered
soft and dead dryness
the mind but wanders
in the palm of the hand
Left alone in the field or
left to wane in the house
plucked or unplucked
the flower’s sum and parts
ordered by a deeper chirality
disperse long before they were a seed
arrange long after the end of time
yet mathematically arranged
yet unordered, perhaps
By plucking its petals
one both gathers and disperses
the beauty of the flower
contained elsewhere
randomly, perhaps
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