There’s poison in my room
Like a dust that hovers hugs
That holds language like lilacs
The first week of Spring.
It died, and I wonder if the wind
Would move through me
Seek capture, and clear, explode like dandelions
And dream of sharing wishes with the stars.
The last cold day in April
A surprise like sickness
Asking redbuds what’s better
Or if they’ve even had enough.