Wedged between house wall and baker’s rack,
you became root- and pot-bound,
were forgotten.
                         I could say that about our lives,
squeezed between reality and dependence
on love, sweet touch.
                                   Unable now to summon enough
strength for the plate-sized crimson blooms
you are known for,
                               time lost itself, made us forget
what we needed for sustenance.

And then comes night,

its long hours between midnight and dawn.
I ask for renewal, what the day before left out,
like the refrain of a song.