A single strand of lavender,
devotedly, blowing in a stone garden,
built for harmony, maintained by distrust.
Full of doves, that cannot fly,
when I visit, I remember goodbyes,
tears that would not come,
irrational conversations, created by a loss
shocked into solitude, mysteriously forgetting
life before the garden.
As anonymous as a peaceful mob
the garden has no dust
because pain never settles.