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People are everywhere breaking into blossom
as though in this poem
the spring might propose again a blessing once given on a Minnesota road,
or the season’s turning
evoke the strange-working alchemy of the ever-changing heart.
As only yesterday
the light overcame us on the lawn at the edge of the street
the day shaking itself into pink and white
flurries of rain-blown blossom, a mosaic of petals at our feet,
grounding us for the moment’s
benediction and wonder. And the well-said thing would be to say
the heart is given on a day like this
to the people who walk beneath the trees, their faces shining, they are speechless
as the showers fall soft
in their hair, and over their shoulders, or petals wet as finger-prints
press onto window-panes
or make their quiet way into houses, leaving little trails of light and hope in the hall.
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