Early Spring?


 The wind knocks the white dogwood petals to the ground

The way an old-school nun would rap the knuckles of a small school-boy

The blooms a month early – frosted pre-dawn light

This moment neither feeds narrative nor puts it asunder. 

No Blame is held up as sacrament at Any or All. 

There is just this cold wind stinging my eyes and face

 These petals crunchy at my feet

In this great light – the dawn of another day