Mr. Uffizi had dreams about words whirling around him. He could never read them because they were backwards. Sometimes he saw the letters for a word, but they were in the wrong order, he was pretty sure. Once he thought he saw "ailed" but he thought no, it's backwards. So it must be like Delia. And he thought, isn't that a flower? And he went to pick it and pricked himself on the "l." When he woke up, his thumb was bleeding. It formed this odd little scar that his other fingers often alighted upon, in turn, rubbing around it in circles. Whenever he caught himself doing this he would think of Rose.
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