White Cherry Poem
Ah, it’s been days, the bird trill, like this:
comb your raven hair fine under the white cherry tree —
These days it’s been ringing in the ear, mostly while looking up at the flowing clouds.
At first it came in dreams, some days ago.
You don’t understand what it means …... and you can’t remember
just who addressed who in the blur of dream.
In this way life is ordinary, troublesome, sometimes sharp and deranging —
but why do the words appear? Unforgettable, like a command?
Look, the cherries are sweet, it is December, not yet the bloom time.
You know: when stewardesses fly, they can’t let their bangs fall loose......
Who knew: in these words, a heart-breaking urgency!
The ear rings with them, mouth dry from speaking, so vehement it almost smokes?