I’ve been meaning to tell you
for a week or more
The trees have burst to life in pastel revelry
The sidewalk is a creamsicle aflutter
They call them cherry blossoms.
And did I ever mention
John Clare, who strode a thousand grass-fueled miles
when the ground he tread was wont to sprout iron bars
returned to find dear Mary he had pinned his life on letters
had sailed the wayward wind with those epistolary tatters
that he himself had rigged?
I must have forgotten to tell you
how the music tiptoes between my ears
dots the night with butterfly feet
then twinkles ‘twixt the ledger lines and leaves me locked in silence?
Would you care to hear about
that dream where Sam kept growing legs
of khaki plastic forks
About the sea of jellies I could stitch for us on Pinterest
all tartly bleeding heaven’s guava glow
About this boy I met, I love him so
He loves me not
She’s sick of me
She loves me still
I want so much to love
But are you there?
The cherry blossoms
I almost forgot to tell you
The sun shriveled them overnight like chestnut breasts too old to quench white dreams
The moment’s past.
Image credit: painting by Cicely Mary Barker, found on https://www.pinterest.com/cindibrewer3/the-flower-fairies/