The way the cherry tree weeps is round with grace
Backlit with green and
Draped across the sidewalk –
The neighbors walk their dogs lightly
Beneath an ordinary arbor.
Others pause with reverence
Under its dappled nod and curve –
Hushing leashes, stilling time,
Grateful for the waking of routine.
But when she called to say her son just died
The scrape and scream tore the wind apart —
The branches just a
violent lash to the living.
Bent limbs laid too low
The neighbors step their dogs around and down
In measured arches past the crawlway.
Pink, the blossoms
New, the buds
Round, the way
Wailing,
Before the coming of the grace.
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