cherry blossoms somehow
each of them knows
about the virus
.
the empty streets of little coughs little sneezes little looks
.
nightmare splinters come out coffins on our sacred sand
.
a neurological season
so we believe
in neurological seasons
.
the virus we
lean
so many
things
against
the cherry
tree
.
with a candle i go all the way into her line about spring
.
butterflies quivering into a fiery pale Nabakovian sentence