EQUATION WITHOUT FLOWERS
BY MAURICE OLIVER

A sign tells you
where to park. Later,

in a letter from Tim
he writes, "experts

say dreams don't mean
a thing." She imagines

a lush garden within
herself. On a hill

above the landing
strip. A sky hovering

at the edge of an
afternoon snow.

The remains of an
ancient fence now

just a half-hearted
gesture. In a painting

oiled in bruised years.
A neighbor stares from

his porch. No one's been
buried here in years.