flower girls

The camellias early bloom
in a rush of pink,
immodest and brash beauties,
all rouge and no blush.

The magnolia holds
her buds like velvet tears
suspended in a slow tableau,
their hour not yet come.

Brazen camellia
browns quick as she pinked,
drops in a heap.

Sweet magnolia
opens clean and snow white
face to the light.

no one naps now

We walk, us four
in the weary
early afternoon,
in the pregnant minutes
before the rain
begins.
We smell the clouds
waiting,
the cherry blossoms
ready for a drink:
I wouldn't turn
one down either.

for jana, on rhododendrons and grief

That they will curl,
brown at the edges,
loosen from their moorings,
and then drop
silent
(crushed) --
they are no less
beautiful
perfect, precious
for this.
It is a story the
flowers
live a thousand times
like tiny test cases,
showing us death --
yes. But
then:
resurrection
again and again.

spring

Tulips open as daffodils fade
Pinks for yellows, a better trade
Plum trees show their flowers first
Marking where later fruit will burst
Lilacs are wound up tight in wait
Leaves sent ahead to test their fate
Camellias drop their early blooms
The beauty of March, April consumes
Shy and bold, new and old
Spring for every living thing.