Frangible Magnolias

I was huddling under the tree’s sturdy boughs,
seeking protection from the rain,
when I first saw you.
You, with your wine soul and
virginal limbs, you reached for me.
I tried to caress you,
but you were just out of my grasp. The
water streamed down you, and I wanted
to drink you in. I had no notion that
we were at an impasse.
You screaming for help, me deafly
absorbing your perfume. Haphazardly
I gazed down and saw the decaying
bodies of your kin littering the
bitter gray cement.
Interspersed between you and
what was left of your relations,
the utilitarian dawn of green.
In order for the birth of monotonous summer,
first comes the death of spring.