Human Valentine

And then one Sunday
there are swelling tubes
of orange-red lipstick
hanging from the branches
of the pomegranate trees
and some have opened round
diaphanous skirts the life
of a flower is our space on earth
all the rest the roots
and branches the fruit
that follows can take their time
all the time they want
as prelude and postscript
it’s the flowers alone
reflect the human stage.