Lessons From a Dying Garden

In order to survive the pain 

of beauty passing,

as so much dies here

and so often,

the flowers teach being; 

being what one is

and where one finds oneself.

If self satisfaction is a failure of imagination,

amounting to nothing, 

only repeating;

we can learn to bloom 

in spite of our dismay.

Flaccid cups of chilly sunlight,

the drooping tulips care little for love

or adoration, 

while losing their perfume

and leaving lipstick stains 

on an errant cuff;

a tipsy farewell to evidence

their fondness.

Brittling sprigs of sage 

gone to mulch, 

dropping to the ground

to flavor the earth

with their long goodbyes.

Their scent lingering on fingers

like a lover’s name

on the tongue.

The basil, long since gone to pot

or as some might say: to seed,

draws its last bee

only to lose its reputation

over a May-December

flirtation.

Perennials believe in reincarnation,

so the peonies are planning ahead 

for their next appearance, 

knowing full well

they’ll always look exactly like themselves.

Which makes the carnations cheerful,

though rather too chummy. 

As for the annuals, 

they’re not entirely in the dark

knowing only that the dormant seeds

amongst them

will bridge the gap between

this world and the next.

09/30/21