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

​

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