Rosemary kept its fragrance longest where your sleeve had once bent through it; no gardener ever spoke of such small fidelities.
Root by root, I forgot the names of constellations until Orion became only the interval your breathing used to cross before sleep.
Resin closed around a fallen wing; amber finished the touch that time itself had left unfinished.
Ruin admitted one white hellebore between two loosened stones; no seed was seen to enter, yet every spring returned there first.
Rapture arrived without astonishment: the candle shortened, the chapel darkened, and still the perfume of warm wax continued kneeling in the air.
River water carried away our reflections at once, yet the reeds along the bank continued leaning toward the place where they had disappeared.
Rook after rook found separate branches; when the wind grew still, the leaves between them ceased to tremble first.
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