Magnolias.

She came to visit

after twenty years of not a word

but was passing

was just passing

and as passing stopped

bringing with her the rusty key

to that locked and dusty room

called memory.

filling our heads

with the contents of that room

we then took a walk

in the spring sun

I led her to the April street

lined with magnolias

where for just one week

romance blossoms

alas too late

the blowsy meaty petals blown

smearing the pavement

with disappointment

'we are too late' I said

turning back

'we should have come here earlier'

and she asked when?

'Oh twenty years ago'.

(She came to visit

after all thse years of not a word

but was passing

was just passing

and as passing stopped

for long enough

to bear witness

to a seasonal disappointment).