Amidst A Tangle Of Final Baby Breath
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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