The sixth of a series of twelve written at a shuttered window. Originally published in the anthology Terra Firma.
For instance, the pear blossom’s coiled
descent, whispering its way to the
earth, or a cold spiracle
releasing air in time to present a new flower,
the exhalation entwined and open
like a small door to a place the sun won’t
touch, the center trembling and pale.
The between, the interval of now and
now brought to fruition. A sudden thought.
What carries it aloft cannot be held.