Lilies

It is a pleasure while eating breakfast
to look out on a stand of lilies,
to then go out
and pick off small slugs.
deadhead any withered blossoms,
and breathe in and out their perfume.

Soon comes the unhappy task
of cutting and gathering stems
that are all bloomed out.
I know with each stem I cut
there will be no blooms
for another eleven months.

No whether, no escape, no recall,
only wet, cold weather
and tangled old leaves thin and brown
until spring jumps in
and there’s a blue-green explosion of life
you would think, as if out of water.