Our Camellias bloom too early
in late winter, early spring,
for us to grasp their evocations,
their heavy-headedness, their blush.
We are in mid-February.
A flower is hanging near the house,
tucked, half-hidden where it’s warmest.
The coats we have to wear
in this season do not match
the layered beauty of the bush
or the sensual spread of petals
that will lie in such profusion
over half-awakened ground.
Gentle promises or fragile lessons.
Adornments that sometimes come
only as brief outlandish symbols,
come when we’re not ready.
come too soon to last.