Gone. Suddenly blooming,
prairie smoke and bloodroot,
a smattering of violets
tucked between blades of hillside grass
from yesterday’s walk
stay fresh with me
into the second day of May.
This fractured year. Props
refract light on a window sill.
Gifts from my mother, Baltic amber
frog and cat figurines glow into late morning.
Trapped in this moment, I swear
I can hear those ancient trees
moan as they seal their wounds.