the callas

It's that time of year
when i miss the camellias that bloomed ;
the callas, too,
when nature was groomed and not unjust
for its youth--the regrets it wrought 
on them, on them. never the elder,
none the wiser. the garden of charms
was green and alert and you were the center
of it all and your smile an irreversible track 
on the fantasy train that Karenina went under.
you left me weary with wonder. i've always
been asunder.

your lip rouge, the many colors onstage,
blinding me with magnificence--don't leave me now!

Just one of those many times.

Not forgotten.