No One to Tell

No One to Tell

The poet said, the trees were blooming

all through her,

and there was no one to tell.

 

I saw the wind move her braids,

twisting them into dark flowing branches,

so full of spring their weight bent down—

deep to the root.

 

She walked past the window,

Cool, indifferent—

unaware the sky settled on her skin,

and I, looking up, could not tell

if the blue sky and green leaves

were part of her or

she of them.

 

I wanted to show this gift to someone—

but the café was empty and anyway words

weren’t made for this.

 

She looked right through me,

my abject gaze blocked by the blue and green

reflection.

For a moment—this is stupid, I know—

the air was full of petals,

and what was that stab I felt?

 

She walked on, out of the reflection.

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