Loss

You, the tree
cannot stop change.
There is no convincing the leaves to keep their green.
No whispered begs pause


the loss.


Cherry buds
turn, turn, turn
grey winter air
pink with the unraveling, loosening
of petals, the undoing of laborous months.
And you, in turn
fade, fade, fade
from pink to
grey.

Surrender, Detach, Salt Salt Salt

This gift will last
Until you’re gone
And then, spark
Flint and fiber
burn.
Your eyes
Too closely set, count the stars between
Scorpion and justice—poison
penance
and this gift
tumble to earth, briefly gather dirt
And return, home.
Salt, salt, salt.