Tuesday, April 29, 2008

A heartbreaker

Cherry Blossoms Blowing In Wet, Blowing Snow

In all the farewells in all the airports in all the profane dawns.

In the Fiat with no documents on the road to Madrid. At the

Corrida. In the Lope de Vega, the Annalena, the Jerome. In time

past, time lost, time yet to pass. In poetry. In watery deserts, on

arid seas, between desserts and seas. In sickness and in health. In

pain and in the celebration of pain. In the delivery room. In the

garden. In the hammock under the aspen. In all the emergencies. In

the waterfall. In toleration. In retaliation. In rhyme. Among cherry

blossoms blowing in wet, blowing snow, weren’t we something?

--James Galvin

(The lineation here got screwed up in the conversion to HTML, but the sense is there.)


Dr. Write said...

Yeah, he kills me. I love X.

Lisa B. said...

Have loved this poem and this book since it wrenched me open when I first read it. Thanks for the reminder, and just as my cherry trees are blooming.