Lost Flowering

Death does not disappoint, the messenger
of eternity may tarry a bit, 
so giving us an extra interval,
but nature guarantees the arrival

taken individually a life
is a silken stitch in time, shining bridge
from nowhere nothing to nowhere nothing
minuscule miracle, now here not thing

what I make myself is fancy of light, 
sleight of sight is what I take for myself
hope knows better than hoping past itself
night is the carpet of stars' rejoinder

death, closest of strangers that buds within,
becomes the last grasp of lost flowering