Soft Brown Petals Down

A week ago, four iris
Blossoms, white, gold, and purple,
Priestly and royal,
Bloomed beside the pink roses,

And now they are brown.
You wouldn’t miss them
If you’d never seen them bloom,

But now you remember them.
Your memory is your loss,
And your memory

Shaped all those blossoms
You had, ever have, even
In the act of perception.
Remember them brown as well.