When this building stopped existing as a merry-go-round
and the patients came to and from another abode,
someone planted daisies in the hallways
where, in slumber, brothers thought of their sisters or
shared their blanket with the more sad person next door.

Some of the daisies have their axis half-picked
like mooncrests and all appear like brides in a snow white
too pure for this place where no love was made –
rather a home for bad loves to be pulled out, taken away.

But before the doors were locked and sealed
some alumni snuck in to lace between a blooming layer:
I dipped in a toe, you dove headfirst, she used hands
to strain uncontaminated soil upon a paisley pattern
and said a novena for where we became blank slates, too.