Somewhere out there in the  imagination:

Roams a smiling fool many called Rose
Who was too fond of living to believe any
of their heavy words carelessly thrown    .

Spending his years traveling through
collected winds and holicly written
predicates onto bank receipt papers        .

Who didn’t need a heritage or a name
to remember to live again among
The scattered rushes and highways        .

and only the trees understood him
And his undying need to grow shapes
and shadows from nothing                        .  

Somewhere out there in the dozens of
breaking lilacs that speak in silence    
lives a smiling fool called Rose               .