Winter Light

Almost December.   Indifferent 

to seasons     the marigolds

persist. I am surprised by their pluck

and lack of propriety

their ability to ignore 

the inappropriate: 

a rusted leaking window box

a shaky fire escape

leading to a cemented street

below. They do not mourn

that all good things must 

come to an end     and accept 

that end as fate or destiny. 

Instead      without struggle 

or assessment of soil

moisture    heat     air    they continue

blooming      in chilling winter light

exactly as they did all summer.