Some days I want to say all
or nothing, now or never, never
again—
But at twilight the river’s a sheet of moving
particles, dark sheen of metal softened
by imperceptible wind—
And the shadows in the dead cherry
are not leaves at all, but fledgling birds
come back to roost.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Oh, I like this one!
My response to Consolation at:
http://albertbcasuga.blogspot.com/2011/06/dialogue-on-dead-cherry-tree.html