Curate, connect, and discover
Cherry blossoms float;
Flurries of delicate snow
in the heart of spring
A ghost is perched in the middle of the lane
softly swaying in a dull grey wind;
she has bloomed but now is still
full of ghostly feathers, like cotton
sheets fresh and waiting,
a new woven straw hat
balanced on the crowded brass hook,
pillows of clouds and endless days
with no rain but the grass is dewy eyed
and lost in a trailing book,
flyaways cutting a boundless sight,
some days are long and grey
but then the nights --
-- the blossom tree outside my window
tells me when spring is here
yet it is wasted in a silent darkness
softly perched in the middle of the lane,
feathers orange in the glow of a thousand sunsets
waiting to be seen again