Justine in bloom
Waters run green
What soil held them?What darkness preceded their light?
The Plum Tree Look up!You’ll walk blindlybeneath her boughs one hundred—no, one thousand—timesbefore she’ll finally let go. Her fatal fruit pelting the patio, splitting, spilling red juice, dark and slick.It stains the tips of your fingersand turns the ground beneath your feet treacherous as spring ice.
Spring performs her miracle
Night falls in a riot of color