In each random sigh of exhalation
the perfume of our own looming death
exudes the beguiling fragrance of flowers,
whose fragile beauty is not diminished
by the inevitability of destruction
at the hand of the very life that
once coaxed them to bud,
to bloom, to blossom.
No, that blessed evanescence
timed into each transient flower
has never been a source of fear
for the life that lives this garden,
a life that that eagerly reflects itself
within each smiling floral face
and mirrors back infinity.
Cradled by love in a garden
of love, with only love
as the Gardener –
who could resist this
last little death at the hand
of the one who most loves you?