They lie in a shoebox in my room:
Faded dahlias, dried peonies, and dwindling marigolds.
Souvenirs
Of the dead and dear,
They rest within my garden morgue.

I see
The grape hyacinth
And recall the dream that I gave up on,
And remember the picnic with my dad
From the dandelion.

And from a frail and rusted rose
The words you said to me;
I like to watch dust dull its color
And time
Eat apart the leaves.