happy and faded

In the florists I floated a hand
over the heads of the callas
like a cleric blessing the harvest
butter, gold and bumblebee
yet such associations are mere contrivance
we can never quite locate the adjective
where sight and sensation come together 

in this instance perhaps the word is
he arriving all aglow with a pot of solar flares
telepathic, the same wavelength of yellow light
xanthous zantedeschia lilies
yelling birthday greetings from smooth, curled lips 

and all that has gone now
another mid-summer memory yellowing
further and further still from youth
he is elsewhere, not far, but the callas stay on
in their blue bowl, brite lime now or chartreuse
or some such word for happy and faded

Planting this poem in the Imaginary Garden’s Mid Week prompt: Going, going gone