The Blossom Acts as a Spring, so I cannot Stay

When I look down at the floor,
that concrete level,
and you catch me swallow,
with the gaze of your eye,
I am not hiding nor ashamed,
yet learning how to support some memories,
and tear down other thought.

I had gathered many flower petals,
to freeze them into a frame for this spring,
but I watched them melt together,
forming a sticky web of past-ripe color,
and it was good to move on.