Confused by warmth followed
by plummeting cold, buds
on the pink magnolia
begin to fruit. In this case,
as in many others, I know
the outcomes of nostalgia.
Don’t look back, I want to say
to the not yet fully formed
corona of petals—
though the sun’s warmth
is barely a husk on this
day with no brim or trestle.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.