It’s hard to
believe how fast her sun rose and set,
the sultry wink and affirmative nod,
a flower that blooms once in a generation
Her portrait hangs on a tree in a yard that is forever autumn,
death in passion that flames so quickly
because we are blind and know not what we do.
The hour of my visitation was no longer
than the space between the coming and going of a breath.
Comet West, a harbinger, winked with its
and tried to trace my path in the stars,
but I wasn’t a wise man in that year of
Always surrender your heart for good
when the universe winks and the flirtation
lest a desert of scrub cactus unroll at your feet,
the only garden that is tilled being the
that blossoms in the memory from time to bygone time.