march 3

this could be the last spring, he said

with a wary look in the over-keen eyes

that peered out from beneath his ball cap brim

as he told me a tale of horrors in motion

that i knew had not, yet, come to fruition

let’s hope things will get better, i said

though his muttered departure declared

they wouldn’t

later i wondered what it is like to live

without hope

in constant terror of the earth giving way

the mountains crumbling into the heart of the sea

and i remembered how his alyssum rained

its delicate purple petals on my steel countertop

what is it like to live as if Beauty is only transient

and not transcendent?