1. Another New York, another multitude, another distance
    opening up: the petals of the flower won’t touch again
    beautiful and lonely and plucked for a child’s game

    that no one sees because all the other petals 
    are left to dry up on the floor
    or hopefully the ground.

    The petals are lost, not even pressed in a book:
    how will this beautiful past be remembered?
    The sun will take its light with it someday

    as math continues descriptively 
    shooting up water and tallying the dead:
    the zeroes are fading

    as the number is stretched further and further:
    surely there must be a better way
    to retain the dead.

    The earth must become full 
    before research into sustainability becomes profitable/ doable,
    so we’re told these answers must wait

    because the zeroes are still legible,
    only the insignificant petals are dust,
    and the British Museum exists.

    But flowers won’t exist forever,
    so they won’t have to open,
    and these games will not be played.

    There are too many tears in the world
    to be blotted by tissues from emptying boxes:
    there are not enough trees in the world

    even if we dig up the roots and turn those into tissues.
    Nothing grows fast enough: the flowers cannot
    bloom on schedule; everyone can’t import the same thing. 

    The mirrors aren’t mirrors anymore: the person and the state
    are not the same. There was a heist: someone replaced the mirror
    with an American flag; with tissues it can be removed…

    that’s something better to do with your hands
    instead of plucking petals, making decisions, blotting tears,
    but it’s hard to stop because even that is a constant decision.