collaborations in poetry and sound
About The Artists
From A Window
by David Rosenthal
It isn't snow -- the petals from
the blossoms of a nearby tree
have harvested without a plum,
to gather on the ground below.
Around here we don't often see
the strange and lovely, lonely glow
of Winter's fallow imagery.
But then again, this isn't snow --
and if it were, it wouldn't be:
it always seems to disappear
before it has a chance to grow
the way I see it growing here.
But I forget, this isn't snow --
the petals from a plum tree near
the fence have let their branches go
to take their chances on the air;
and nearly frozen from the flow,
the tree itself is almost bare,
except a lightly dusted layer
of crystal flakes that aren't snow.
Previously published in
Listen to David Braden's
Rhymes From A Different Window
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