This Side of Paradise

This Side of Paradise

To the memory of Leonard Nimoy and Mr. Spock


Frannie Zellman

When the spores burst from pods,
no one would compete.
Songs flowed into petals
before they had names.
You flowered into love.

For a shocking change,
you didn't count days
or calculate suns
or ratios of the probable.

You brooked no measure
of what might be
or what became
or what would.

And for a very short time
shorter than that of an earth rain,
you were happy.