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A dark log rests in calm water, adorned with scattered red petals that have been carried by the wind from fading flowers.
I couldn't quite capture the essence of the Ezra Pound Poem, the fragility of individuals when detached from their centers, their sustenance, their support.
"The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough."
The bough was too flimsy and had a lot of detracting branches so I used a log. It took a lot of tries to get petals instead of leaves and flowers; I'd be interested to see other people's results if anyone tries it.