I’m three or four,
hidden in the branches
of the cherry tree.
I don’t ask: how
did I get here?
I don’t fear falling.
The job of the blossom
is to bloom, to be
beautifully unschooled in ruin.
America's Finest Environmental Magazine
I’m three or four,
hidden in the branches
of the cherry tree.
I don’t ask: how
did I get here?
I don’t fear falling.
The job of the blossom
is to bloom, to be
beautifully unschooled in ruin.