The tulip magnolia belongs in heaven,
eternally in its magical prime, with petals
of crushed raspberry stirred into cream,
tender cups of delight.
Likewise, downy apple blossoms
dolloped like meringue on branches
that lately shivered in wet nakedness
signify abundant life.
In a heaven of endless spring,
sepals, forever turgid and green,
never decay into the wasted underside
of an apple. Petals, never shed,
do not curl their darkening edges
into the grass and disappear.
The god of that heaven has
no more need of apples.
Earthly trees live day by day,
exhaling away as light
spins air into beads of sugar,
pulling taut the skin of plums.
But not forever.
They cannot keep their flowers
or fruit; preservation is not
life eternal.
Death in eternity, is it a possibility?
It may needs be, because God is
no magician, but a gardener.