After a windy day on the lake, petals drop and settle like constellations on the water. A fraction of time later, they’ve slowly drifted apart into a patternless pocket, too far to smell like any memory. You used to make pictures out of clouds. Today it’s too sunny so you look down instead of up. The glint makes the petals look like sour candy in the wrong place at the wrong time except for you, the innocent bystander. What do you know other than heat and shapes. A swan cuts through.