Monday, April 30, 2012

The End of April

Firepit ash from a good burn
blows with blossoms in the gusts.

The moment is too gentle
to hold on to things that are
no longer, for the gift of life
is to grieve.

4 comments:

Hannah Stephenson said...

The best spring poems also remember the fall (or the Fall).

Rusty Kjarvik said...

thanks for your humour, you tend to crack my face into a smile like no other, must be the trace of someone light on their feet over a grounding language, perfect embrace with the seasonal impermanence which with fleeting gravity presupposes every step. continue lightly. and step. the fire of creativity does not burn.

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