When you come I’ll bring you flowers from the balcony –
the pink ones whose name I can’t remember
but which bloom throughout the summer
even in the hottest weeks when pavement surfaces blister.
It’s not much of a gift (you can see that colour splashed
across the apartment block facades in any street)
but they’re the ones that grew then budded then opened
these papery petals all the time that I’ve been waiting.
You could say that they’ve measured out the days and weeks
but that would be to burden them with a weight
they don’t deserve: they are flowers, after all,
from the balcony and here is a vase you can put them in
and the table where you can leave them
in the first few minutes after you arrive.