Pink explosions


The skin beneath my chin,
is loosening. Gradually
I am changing into a memory.

Still, above me,
a cherry tree is blossoming.
So many tiny pink explosions,

left in that old tree.
So much sap still running.
So much faith.

I should see this as promise,
at least solace.
But that would do nothing for the tree.

I am past wanting to use things.
I simply wish to see, here or there,
more pink explosions.


  1. I’ve been pondering this, and though I’m never sure with poetry, I think it captures our hunger beautifully. And I had the thought that though the inevitability of spring changes nothing about our deep hunger, the experience of life and beauty (and for me most of all of deep connection with people) is in fact potent medicine for the inevitability of loosening skin and evaporation into memory.

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