oh old departed man
everytime i look at certain plants
their blooms and foliage
bring you back to me
i see you in the garden
bent over feeding the glorious white roses
you have not left me at all,
not as i thought
like the old monk said,
"death is only a notion,
a human notion"
i've been listening to this
intuition inside of me,
wondering from where it comes
wondering of its vibrant, almost violent
intensity like the color
of a crimson rose bleeding into white
i am realizing it is still you
inside of me, you still teaching
i should have known you had
not finished the lessons yet
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