Listen to the author read this poem:
You visit each day in a different dress,
a clear umbrella for the rain.
And one day this week,
with a daisy
whose stem you sawed
with a kitchen knife
Only the magnolias have squandered their colour.
Their shells convalesce over the neighbourhood lawns.
you brought me some,
but pulling their corpses from
your book where they lay clamped,
you thought again and discarded them,
stepping through my door with the story, the gesture.