winter thoughts in warm august

what these flowers mean is simple
the demand that life continue that in spite
of flood or drought it must go on

we do not see that in february when the bare
branches tell us a different thing they reinforce
the cold outside with a deeper cold that reminds us

of our mortality and that each sleep
is a kind of tiny death a removal to a place
where dreams are silenced and the memory

of others is our fragile residence until they also
pass on to be gradually forgotten in the realm of life
that celebrates itself with these pale flowers