A rose can’ t change the world. It can only open or close.
A rose drives the world like an enormous gear.
It pushes a schooner east of Borneo.
When a body has been rearranged, it is held together with a rose.
A rose is a weapon, a guide, a compass.
It shatters the glass to explain a spilled blue shore. This is how we know we are in the presence of tragedy.
You shouldn’ t have. You couldn’ t have. You did. You are.
We piece together an aftermath.