Of Things That Fade And Remain

She was a dahlia at noon

as red as a love poem

facing the sun

he was a midnight stone 

stuck in silence where her shadow grew

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Dreams are funny things.

Monday: I am at once sunk neck-deep in a rain puddle, driving, unaware of my destination, late for work, and alone in what was once a busy bar, so I walked away. 

About that summer flower and sad rock above, what can I do about those two?