Between the seasons
we weep at the passing of flowers
as this flowering of flurries
sweeps away thoughts
douses with clear water
what ought to be sad
but isn't.
We watch this lightness of water
that floats in the wafts of updrafts,
into gusts of uncertain days.
Cold moisture that now gathers,
courses through gutters,
goes to the river
where brightness will flutter over the ripples,
then join the dark flow of the stream.
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