I told you I would find you a spring poem
filling your mind with the smell of daffodils
the worded anticipation of warmer, saturated.

But poems about spring feel tacky tonight
like a valentines day chocolate that melted
in my back pocket where your hand fits

They reverb a softness that
my tired eyes can’t grapple to focus.
I’m trying but spring means that

My year has been swallowed before me.
The only use I see for these budding sakura
are for peppering that grief with scorn.

Perhaps I will sleep it off. But then,
perhaps cynicism in the face of ******
beauty, is my becoming a poet.

Everything may end,
The unknown knows.
All you dread.

You are held aloft.
Seeing the events.
Quiet and tense.

The storm builds,
Thunder softly stirs.
Shy away.

Come down,
Touch the earth.
Unbearing suspense.

Your breath is taken,
You are made blind.
Speech is numbed.

Hide from all,
Seek none.
Hear no-one.