Summer Flowers

Are there still weddings in this weather?
It seems that the brides would melt into pools of anxious sugary syrup.
I suppose the show must go on.
I’m not as cynical as I once was.
This activity is no stranger to me than sports or watching television.

But I do worry about the wilting flowers.
They will begin to lean over the second the ceremony is over.
They will question their decision to bear blossom.
They will falter faced with rainy seasons.

Care for them Mother.
The innocent victims of Nature’s drama.
Protect the fragile sensations.
Keep the light high enough so they don’t wither,
And strong enough to draw the attention of their perfect seeking faces.

Giving Ghosts Gifts

I smell fresh roses on the subway
Are my ghosts here too?
Can they visit inhospitable places?
Pass through me drawing out memory

It’s always unexpected when it happens
An overwhelming sense of calm
More than déjà vu or melancholy
It’s the wave of true sensation

It passes so brusquely
As if only to taunt my motion
Leaving only memory, a pale emotion
Compared to time and space travel

Thank you for the flowers
On this grey Spring day
Even if their presence quiets
A disillusioned way.

How can a mortal give gifts to a ghost
Passing things across the ether
We can only accept
Until the great gap is bridged.