The park admits the wind,
the petals lift and scatter

like versions of myself I was on the verge
of becoming; and ten years on

and ten blocks down I still can’t tell
whether this dispersal resembles

a fist unclenching or waving goodbye.
But the petals scatter faster,

seeking the rose, the cigarette vendor,
and at least I’ve got by pumping heart

some rules of conduct: refuse to choose
between turning pages and turning heads

though the stubborn dine alone. Get over
“getting over”: dark clouds don’t fade

but drift with ever deeper colors.
Give up on rooted happiness

(the stolid trees on fire!) and sweet reprieve
(a poor park but my own) will follow.

There is still a chance the empty gazebo
will draw crowds from the greater world.

And meanwhile, meanwhile’s far from nothing:
the humming moment, the rustle of cherry trees.

Recquisat in Pace, RW.

“But at my back I always hear”

Imperial Casket Co. Model #5, The Bel-Air Colonial Deluxe.
“All the Warmth that Wood Can Give.”

[Via WFMU]

“2 things before I die
clean my closets and drawers..just right before I die
go to Egypt, Alaska, New Zealand (I know, that’s really three, four total).”

[Via Coudal]