“If you are buried under a flamboyant tree, your soul is lifted up when it flowers.”
– Jean Rhys
It was February and the spring was early in her bloom.
That was what struck me;
how I could smell the white.
The color of the sun,
I must remember, though, that life
comes up again
Later, on my balcony, I would speak to the trees—
to their blossom—
had been lifted.