March 13

comments 7

Some things aren’t as they seem
this isn’t snow

it’s petals from the tree
see you can still smell

the perfume sharply tinged
at the end with life

and green vigor not wholly
sweet not artificial

a welcome change
now spending days in rooms

that breathe for you and bleed
for you if you lack

the volition rooms full
of the gone involuntarily

and also voluntarily
even those we drag back

and to what–
here the sun breaks

through the picture
window the sun grinds along

in its predetermined arc
above the street where the cherries

have bloomed early
some med students pass

saying how strange
that you can’t see

the mountain today
the vent triggers

a breath and breathes
the breath and waits a beat

no one exhales here
the air just slips

out of slack mouths
into the greater room air

after an exchange of gas
at the cellular level

so much of life is unknowable
unthinkable still

glaring in its absence
the pause——puff pause

——puff whisper of the vent
can’t even begin to fill

the dead silence in fact
it seems to make it worse


  1. Still can’t get over how beautiful and flowing your poetry is!
    May I ask what sort of room this was? Or is that purposefully/metaphorically ambiguous?


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