at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.
after weeks of dry weather —
or merely a tease of moisture in the form of fog
or snow or sleet or drizzle —
the spring skies have finally broken open
all day yesterday i thought it was tomorrow
because my watch’s day-of-the-month counter
had skipped ahead when i wasn’t looking.
wendell says there are no unsacred places,
only desecrated ones, but i don’t know
what desecration looks like in the wild.
do you like to visit the zoo?
ana from peru asks.
i do, i say, and she ticks the box,
then probes further: what do you like best?
i wonder when i last went to the zoo.
midnight again
once more
new green leaves unfurl tentatively from last year’s dry brown canes
Read Morethe rain hits the pavement with a steady splash
and shafts of lightning forewarn of thunder’s uneasy rumble
i noticed her face as he told her
“there was nothing we could do” —
saw the brightness fade, watched it crumple —
the winds scrapes rough on bleaching bone
and the whitened trunks of weathered trees