The Creeping Cinquefoil’s Dream
written by Mathias Svalina
I spend days writing a sentence with my flowers. I am careful to spell each word correctly, to space my petals out so that the letters have the greatest ease of readability. I doublecheck my grammar. When I am done, I am proud of my work. It is a sentence, a statement, but it is me as well. I read IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO READ THIS SENTENCE CORRECTLY.