...and Z

Z

Downtown there is an old building with its

own dock for a zeppelin from back then

when the future was raw, aluminum

everyone saw themselves flying there

like zinnias they would have no stalks

and even now I love cut flowers

for their willingness to drift even if

at bottom it means not holding on

like last week at a friend’s funeral

there were zebra orchids in a vase

next to the framed picture of my friend

and the vase was too short for

the stems cut at an angle in order

to have a bigger space for their thirst

his grown daughters at the podium

holding on until time to release

a white balloon that carried so much

and could drift as far as New Zealand

with schoolkids seizing it for a prize

disentangled from the power lines

what might have been the mylar zenith

of a life. It was an uncertain

symbol open at the end

like the last letter if you don’t say

zed, stopping the tongue on the teeth

but part lips partly smiling the long e

that moves away from whatever was said

sounding easy.