Seven Types of Ambiguity


Don’t let the Almighty fool you
He isn’t in control, either

In a darkened room,
We run into nothing

The best roses are eaten and wilting
While winter stiffens petals

Nowhere do dreams congregate; they fear
Slipping into the sorting machine

I would scissor off the brown petals
My love would grow smaller and smaller

I turn them over and over in shallow water
Soft oval stones with no side recognizable

I am thinking of the roses next summer, nodding
Just after rain, I will sing about them to you

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