or must it always be back there
with the April flowers,
the once-bloomed, never to repeat itself,
the gorgeous flowering of faces
that know what to do with soil and rain.
Are these signpost years
doors that block out everything
but the tearful glance back,
the glimpse of natural color,
of tall and slender stems.
Can’t blossoms follow,
make the grand statement
years beyond their roots.
Your eyes open
on a sunny Sunday morning.
Autumn’s reversed itself.
Glad you agree.