Outside, the little dogwood is a stunning addition
to our current lives. The lingering spring rains
keep spring lingering; its showy self-
adoring display poised, ready and wanting
to fan its venereal resplendence. What else
could our allergies be, other than evidence
of our certain, alien source? Time continues
to spend itself in odd, algorithmic ways. We
watch, charmed, attracted to a thing it possesses
we recognize as the fruit of our renunciation.
As it reveals its mystery, we become slightly
more wicked, love-worn, and a bit more wrinkled
about our wonderful eyes.
rdking