Unexpected Arrival

By | 3 February 2024

The agony of spring when it is trespassed by other seasons,

discolouring the weather. A bud

rejoins another branch, then all along its boughs

a natural mirth among the seeds

rupturing closer to a mutter.


Say it’ll last for another week or so, but this year

our grounds are empty

the short-lived have no onlookers

and by now, it will begin to oxidise

stubbornly into green

the summers more humid this time, more volatile

than the last.


And as I wake up this morning, clusters of

snow, dust, snow—

the ash inseparable from its confetti

dance to the ground.

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