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