a bucket of flowers on the grimy floor
blossoms straining apart
as though polarized against their fellows
each one already dead
the days of budding have passed
a vanishing ode to summer
she knows where she put the summer
she drags the bucket across floor
this year she's let go as the days have passed
and the hours have easily coalesced and come apart
an insect falls from a petal, dead
an infinity away from its garden fellows
she doesn't notice the insect, doesn't consider its fellows
just opens the door to admit an inch more summer
and observes the surreality of not being dead
most things that ever lived have already hit the floor
their atoms have drifted apart
and what they became has likewise passed
for her 29 years have passed
each day gathering behind her with its fellows
present and past cleaving the world apart
flowers and insects flit through this summer
as she sweeps the dirt from the floor
each moment, once lived, drops dead
now that she's used to the dead
she doesn't regret what's passed
or focus on anything but mopping the floor
just as later she'll focus on one of her fellows
a lover whose lips are made of summer
who tears preoccupations apart
finished, she pulls a flower apart
its flesh feeling anything but dead
these colorful slices of summer
carry the light and wind that passed
growing them and their fellows
the petals land on the newly-cleaned floor
her bare feet kiss the petals, the floor
footprints joining their fellows
leading away from what has passed
