Flowers head South for the winter

leave us with bare gardens and frozen fingers.

In Sarasota, for example, I saw the ones

that had escaped us,

sneaked out, even as we watched them.

There they were, decking streets with their glory.

Don’t blame them:

It’s an instinct to be emulated

So as with aging

it comes to one easily.

We flap our ways away

from flagging fortune

thus rising above stratospheres of iciness.

Want to get down there

on those subtropical beaches

and chirp

with your fellow flowers

in the sunlight

in that sweet, if necessarily Southern, syrup