Seasons

I bear witness to water for wading,
Because in this day and age 
we can only afford famine or flood.

And this water falls 
intending entendres 
engorging riverbeds
And flowing with the freedom 
of that which moves with volatility.

Water walks with ego rightfully,
Having fed life into all of me
And nurtured length in the flower stems of these.
And as petty pretty as they might seem,
Flowers wake and flowers sleep,
Reading seasons to me easily.

Having wandered inside from flake or flurry 
Still having trodden on persistent petals
I am a spring-lush shade of envy green, for 
The permanence of bloom is poking fun at my sense of irony,

Carnations carrying on like winter frost may not damper the dew.
But stubborn seeds can’t get me down:
In all the gardens of all the worlds,
Flowers live fleeting.

I bear witness to frosty caresses of faulty fallbacks,
The tips of your fingers always having dripped in icy messes
Of seasonal setbacks for such ambitious little bulbs
As flowery sweet you&me.

The water that weans us has set us afloat
On ideas of temporary trysts 
with rhythmic repeats 
like my mother’s pretty perennials,
Dying and delighting her again in Spring.

We however here, while watered well
And denied no daylight,
We here may still wilt;
May fade not just for fall,
But blink out, reluctant, wilted.
Our brown leaves having fallen neglected
Heaping ideas and dust about our stems,

I bore witness to winter early this year.

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