To a Camellia Blossom

I saw your pretty head lying
beneath the bush. Without
thinking, I kneeled and cradled you, petals sighing
into grateful palms. Beauty face down
is an abomination. Why
must you suffer the weight
of early perfection? Your vividness
lifts me, lifts all. I wanted
to hold you. Just like that.
Until. I know this kind
of blooming well, to be
so lush, insides so swollen with life
that what was meant to hold you up
can’t. I wasn’t meant
to hold you, yet here we are
on this stray, brisk day in April
trembling and fulfilled, unlikely
and true. Before I knew what
to call you, I reached and imagined
season after season. Unmoored.