There is always the question of destination:
when and where will I go?
A sudden sadness erupts as we become witnesses.
When the flowers–once so voluptuous–turned prints,
dust, patches of petals–we try to reconstruct
only to discover what is lost is gone forever.

There is always the question of destination:
when and where will I go?
But never do we ask how is a flower a flower?
Was it her love petals that gave her beauty?
Her blooms to be gifts?
Did her soft aroma dare us to feel the fabric of her skin?