although brief a thing

in the even now evening
when beautiful is away
you have stuck to
your story of flowers
as if it is the thing to save you
like a jar of your breath when
a gasp
is all that is mustered

your flower story
a story about a field in the other country
when the May month droops
a cloud to impress
the ground with rain
they all without names but flowers
a field of flowers in
a bursting
of colors like whites

then your speaking
as if it will bring the otters back from their brink
the cottages will not be repaired
with your mouth words alone
the season is such that chastity is fashion

and you gasp lies to lies
as if they didn't break when
though brittle
you shake them across the counter
their voice speaks when they snap
and that is all there is but
the sound of snapping
no one listening
and you