-This poem reflects on spring blossoms as a moment of full beauty, brief grace, and the visible flowering of all that has been quietly gathering.
By morning the branches are changed,
each limb made soft with bloom and light,
white and pink along the reach,
a brief abundance in the air.
The whole tree stands as if it knows,
how beauty gathers without sound,
how one clear week can hold enough,
to make the heart more open too.
Petals loosen in the breeze,
and drift like thought across the yard,
a tenderness that does not ask,
to linger longer than it can.
Still, while the branches bear this grace,
the world seems more than what it was,
as if the hidden rise of spring,
has found its bright and fragrant form.