IMG_9293 uncropped



O nail-scarred beauty!
Green blossoms to white soften.
The blush of rust, brown-

red pricked from a wrist —
rust for the carpenter’s hands,
feet, and the spikes that

bled them. Season turns,
flowers curl and drop — to earth
they return and die.

But the tree lives on.
Spring comes and, resurrection.
Broken heart waters.




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