I
As the sequence of lily-of-the-valley to iris
To bleeding heart then rose
Leads to fall’s gladiolas
We hope that life
Even encircled by death
Commences
To opening
At least some stray sunbeam on the wall,
And deer’s ruckus among trees behind the garden.
II
Even trees destroyed by storm
Gain an afterlife
In the campfires and bonfires,
Red flames admired.
III
Shells washed up on shore,
Abandoned homes
Iridescent mother-of-pearl
Salvaged, crafted into jewelry.
IV
Five million dead.
Will life blossom
Into something more
Beautiful
Useful?
Will we learn Kindness?
– Debbie Trantow
