Forecast
Does the peach
blossom
count its
numbered days
in the lure of false
spring?
Smiling, you admit pleasure
in cruelty,
in assigning lots
to the relief of those
never called,
and those whose answers
remain open,
unfixed.
The freeze is coming,
you say.
Let us pray.
This first appeared here in January 2017.
O at the Edges 
There’s something liturgical in this poem, with questions ranging from a hint of Tao Qian to Calvinism to the grand solar minimum. Or perhaps I have read my own thoughts into the intervals between the words. It also made me feel as if I were eavesdropping on an awkward or painful conversation between a thoughtful persona and the kind of person (only hinted at) who cannot be reasoned with. Powerful poem.
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Thanks, Craig. I always hope to leave sufficient space for readers to fill in their own stories.
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is there ever a false spring
do we actually know anything
are we only unfixed blossom rings
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The older I get the less I know.
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Oh Robert, I resemble that remark.
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I was so smart 40 years ago!
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Forecast of a measured blossom for peach……….. Like it…..
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There’s nothing quite like them!
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Yep
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