Tough Zinnias

If you come up the path through time’s   
protensity you’ll find me  

in this yellow November, a muddle of sun  
beside me on the ground. I’ll be lost  

in thought, unhappy with the common   
marigold’s heavy stink, dreaming of feathery things 

with berries. Come intently up the path   
through extensities of space. 

Tough zinnias come up & find me. Why not you?  
They are loud flowers that bear witness 

to past waterings by blooming   
through drought. I’ll be thinking I must  

become something that thrives   
in dry weather. Come calmly up the path.  

Be so present even eyes dimmed by bitters   
can track you into the pastel asters.  

Don’t make me wait. I’ll be fidgeting   
with the unrest brought on by fatal weather.  

What will become of us? I think  
our attributes will be engraved inside a promise  

ring in a script too small to read.   
Come quietly and be undimmed.  

When I see you, my eyes will fill   
with “really?” I’ll stand there 

trying to decide if you are cool enough   
to make any trace of warmth  

seem welcome or warm enough   
to make any residue of cold  

negotiable. I’ll say if you’ve come   
to tell me you’re going, please go.