Morning broke this morning,
sleep caught like crystal dew
in the prison call of the sun
dawning far away
–
from the grey
bland aftertaste of day,
the horizon’s lifeless grain;
a mauve shawl of the dying winter
emerging in splinters, wanting to dawn
more, more than just day, today
–
Flitter falls, fell with the night,
first eyes, found first blossom trails
on silent fairy lights, carrying in the wind.
–
Feet step on delicate origami worlds
–
scattered miniatures of all we hold,
revolve in the breath they blow
into life glowing inside ourselves
within the starblood centers of the blossom
uncurled and alive from where they fell,
the mist has pressed them onto themselves
into one amassing tide of perfume
of the most delicate youth, running beneath
the powder fall of thoughts,
of possibilities,
of life
–
That morning masks and mutes,
numbs the focus of the falling life
and renders the sweet stung scent
blanched by its own discovery
–
when in the full circle of a year,
all stops, acutely aware
as if hung on a weightless impasse,
clung to a belief that will never come
and through this infinite, the miniature worlds
of the blossoms curls, grow slowly apart;
mark the splintering of their white
by creases of crimson spills of sight
and find refuge in the fight to grapple
and turn a shadowless light;
a transparent disguise
to their inseparable selves
–
one hundred and forty seven selves
fell into the blossom’s plight
in my first sight of spring
each whispering
-When we fall, we fall
each and all, to the one floor
from the same great height-
and on they fall, and on we fall
converging in woe, ingrained
in the dirt pressed from our identity;
the fossil set of our equal footprints
mar on the blossom grounds of life,
unable to live out of difference,
outside of season, too afraid of seeing
ends, when they are the beginnings
to the hemlock spin of our blossom creases,
blown into concentric spiraling designs
of the forgotten fingerprints of spring
