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.
