We wear these
days as a garland
about our necks
enjoying its blossoms
but ignoring its
beauty.
So our lives
rise about us,
as the sun blooms
and wilts, so do our
flowers, passing into
oblivion leaving,
behind us a fog
of fragrant days
that grow dim
in the nose
as the wind
blows them to
nostalgia.

AcB 2.7.99