Cherry tree, you flourish in so many fragile ways. 
I shelter under your bare boughs, waiting for spring. 

Time moves delicately, upward with splayed fingers. 
We sit together, cold and open to loose clouds.

I imagine that beneath your bark is another green. 
One that doesn’t surrender, steadfast and sneaky, 

it knows that blossoms unfurl and fall away. 
Our passion is temporary, hot and perfumed and

alive, forever rooted in the earth.