I saw a rose tree high as the cypresses
In a place Pomponius or Saturus had torn
Violets all over the grass
The rose tree was the brilliant, never-
Written book I ruined
My neck sniffing the attar of
The violets were the witty titles
That had flashed over my brain
Like insights lighting into the very
Heart of pain
Where I might have written Love
Published in the May 2021 issue: View Contents
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