You Were

You were perennial, alpine aster,
century plant, bee balm
for many years.
How constant whispers
can be, how clear.
        Then the drapes fell hard.
Now I gather tops of blooms.
In my eye light you
        live on.
I would gift you back 
    the weather, a wildflower,
    sure of exactly
nothing. I rise still planting,
play through the clatter
        of rain on tin top playing
percussion to the once shared inside.