
winding like vines,
tree branches grow like a cage
over my head.

winding like vines,
tree branches grow like a cage
over my head.

dense bloom clusters
of one week are a carpet
on the ground the next.

the fruit ripens
in the temple garden;
a kumquat drops.

the early blooms
are wilted; they’ll be gone when
the tight buds open.

a bloom falls to earth;
lit up by the morning sun,
it glows… for a time.

rain-laden blossom
falls… lands with a sound,
in the mud.