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