What is the thing about the cherry leaves
That melt into the blinding white of snow,
Which reminds me of fleeting love received;
Where do our fragile moments fall and go?
Do they ascend into the sky? Do birds
Collect them in bundles to make their nests
The way we sometimes do? Often our words
Are timid creatures leaping out of chests
In fear that they will never see the light
Of day. But once they’re free, they disappear
Like cigarette smoke drifting in the night.
It seems to me that love is paired to fear:
There’s beauty in the short-lived moment’s glow,
And then it’s gone, lost in the white of snow.