Bee Balm and Cool Water

This reflex I must break -
walking down the path
to the spring -
a sudden twinge
deep, low in my belly.
I place my hand
on the spot just above.

A scarlet patch of bee-balm
blooms among the rocks.
All the flowers
I planted this spring,
have withered, died,
yet color appears here
where there was nothing
before.

A benediction breeze
stirs through the field.
Red petals, curled thin,
float down to the water,
swirl into the current,
then wash away.
The season,
the flowers,
the water,
my baby ...

gone.