Anticipation of Flowers

there are never

enough buried months

in winter to allow

the heart to school

a craving head

the catalog of wants

unshackles restraint

wet blush of spring

gives way with all

the foolish aspirations

to the long drought of summer

the burden that cannot

be shared again this year

will stretch late into autumn

some of what you bring

some of what you plant

won’t grow the way

of thought or as it ought

baking days a few

tolerable hours

to tend what dries never

enough wet to draw

from out the well

to quell the spell of brutal heat

that befalls each bed

insect hordes ascend

like sparks from burning logs

then fall

foliage browns

and dies except

for what the bugs devour

prickly vines spread

by a formula perfected

in millenniums of unchecked testing

hope retreats to roots

and waits

you leave for a

few days to see to

other matters

return to walk

at dusk when gnats relent

your palms extending

to touch what’s left

what remains

you wonder

when the world will not

you weed

and water from the can

cut a few flowers

for an empty jar

you swear then swear

an even fouler curse

that it could be far worse

begin to worry

what comes after

what comes next