Wasted Magic

The day
has no visible stem
like any flower
I know,
and yet it blooms.

The petals
are hours,
minutes, even seconds
have wild
colors

and yet
they burn
like no flower

I know,

since flowers
can retard
the flames,

those wet
flower-lips

and we sit
looking out
windows

and dryly

we burn,

we go up.

Un-flowerlike
as we are.