OK. I have no idea what this is.A poem? Prose?
A cawing of a crow in its poor impersonation of a songbird?
Whatever. You tell me.
Here it is, from a stormy early spring afternoon, thoughts written down from my outdoor patio, two dogs at my feet as rain drenched the Jordan River Parkway.
______________
Too Early
Spring is newborn
Rain falls, but winter's breath lingers
Cottonwood bloomed
Too early
Not hail, unconvinced slush
Gray raindrops end on new grass
Days-old white blossoms
Stripped
A sigh, a silent wet landing
Ivory perfection one breath, then
pedals decapitated, slowly interred
Mud unmarked
But not forgotten
Life, so brief, fragile, beautiful
I saw your advent, your decay
Remembered
