[ unexpected – the trees ]

for Linnea

Unexpected the trees
tell us something urgent,

threatening to blossom at the first
sign of our acknowledgement

of who we really are. Off
toward a distant horizon;

rumbling. In the air the presentiment
of rain – a sudden warm gust of wind

the last surrendered sigh of the last
sunset of the last day of everything

that has gone before.

the first gentle
tears of the first rain,

of all the days
to come, fall

on our faces.


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