Love’s Brevity

Apricot trees have moved
into their bursting arc
with an expressive excitement,
assuming a weightlessness
unconscious as desire.
They are grounded clouds
levitating in yards and parkways;
opening guilelessly in laundered
fists of the fugitive hour.
Our eyes helplessly flock
to the elevated
lamb’s wool displays,
are bees drawn to a reflection
of love’s exquisite brevity.

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