A dying-day lily
meets my slow breath.
The hard ground I’ve floundered on
is the same that the flower has conquered.
My luminous swan
flecked purple underneath its wings
flutters in the watery curls of grief
misting white the charcoal shadows.
spread wide like a float
soaked in the brine of an unforgiving sea.
between what is and what is not
a fragile firmament,
easing layers of rot.
Flowers are lessons in resilience
Yes they quickly die but they never drown
Their coral-tipped journeys