The tulips to forever

go, in that

they are timeless,

in that they glow

for the eternal hour

of my mother’s eyes,

the birth of always

which never dies.

And, Jesus, here right now,

I can’t help but think

that all of us

somehow are meant

to reach this end,

to be

present and bright

like the ink of my pen.

And because of this,

it seems that perfection

cannot be complete.

For soft beauty must breathe

in a world which is never finished,

is never gone.

As these flowers, these souls,

as they bloom on and on.