If you say
the dead can smell
this rose
on my desk—
are they using
extrasensory
transcendent abilities?
When it comes to loss
I go for facts. My desk is wood
this rose—white.
Or must I rethink:
rose, desk, scent—
my brother
dead
45-years ago
tomorrow
a drunk man
erased.
Is it my longing
that reaches him
through this rose
is it
the frigate ships
he painted as a boy
back