Amidst A Tangle Of Final Baby Breath

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It was only a few days ago

when we carried them home in our arms

and arranged them

like teachers placing children in size order

and carried them

to their place of honor,

on the notched pine bed of a coffee table

where we stared at them every morning and every night like hypnotized parents 

and did everything we could

to keep them happy and alive.

And yet

while we were otherwise engaged

watching The Crown

or playing Sudoku

there was 

a sudden decline

a Garbo collapse  

as cells surrendered 

and in a matter of hours

the bouquet perished

amidst a tangle of final baby breath

Which is why

artists memorialize our fallen flowers,

photographers capture them

and writers eulogize their glory

to remind us that

every visit

is as brief as a sigh,

that to welcome the temporary 

limpidity of beauty

and the transmission of color

is to be loved unconditionally,

and that there are lessons to be excavated 

in the covenants of fidelity

which will speak to us

like the moment

that the snow stops,

long after we’ve said goodbye


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