Wreaths

In his spare time, Future leafed through
photocopies of dead chapters.

Present asked, "Do you need to preserve
any of them?"

Future: "Only the stones of reality, not
dried petals filled with elegiac laments!"

Present: "Can't stones give birth
to buds in despair?"

Future : "I shall curl such idiocy
into wreaths, place them beside coffins."

Present: "But our graves may inherit
such circlets!"