John Kristofco – “dogwood”

the dogwood blooms its truths in spring,
its lies,
quiet breath of apprehension,
what will be,
what won’t,
shelves of sealed blossoms,
boxes, cans ready,
rotted,
hands raised high to answer
questions they might know
or not,
like every spring,
the promise and the breach,
death and life together
just like hope


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