She pressed a flower between the pages
of a book and it soon became dry, lacking
Then like all mysteries it began to rain,
not a weak or lazy rain, but the rain of
Water dripped everywhere – canoes and
boats appeared – laden with living rooms
And she pressed this book tighter,
wanting the passion of her breast to be
understood by a lover.
On this voyage nothing remained dry;
everything gathered a pool of moisture
and this book and flower were no different.
But after 40 days she cursed that book and
its flower – tossed them into the waters, and
never touched wetness, mercy, or love again.