3

3
I can not help but lament a fading flower
Unable for the moment to rationalize -
That as the seasons pass, more flowers will blossom
That the flower has done its job, lived its life, completed its purpose.

I grieve in the way one grieves for a death, but not for deaths
Here is beauty, an outburst of energy, unashamed.
Perhaps it is a selfish grief -
The flower was color, and sweet smells
And now I must go to buy some lilac or lavender or jasmine scented hand-soap

Something to work on in the future

I've been reading some famous poems and poets recently in my very limited spare time and while I'd like to dive deep and find some hitherto unknown poetic master, I simply haven't needed to. There are so many "well known" works that I've never stopped to look at. Their words live on in an ever expanding...something. It's as though we, by opening a book (or internet page for some), like Odysseus and Aeneas, can cross into the underworld to consult with the past. From that comes the first two lines of a potential something to write in the future:

Such beauty, and such thought, there is in these Elysian Fields,
Filled not with titans, but giants, upon whose shoulders we might climb

A second one without a title

Two tonight, both dense, superficial, and important for me to write.

2
we are alone

cultivating


remote


farmsteads

coming together in towns of insignificant details

we are alone because we are unique
and because we are unique, we are the same

A poem in one line

Eventually the dust settles and we may dance once more