Now daffodils bloom

in watercolor spirit

Skies of tender pastel

blend into the lingering warmth

of caramel breaths in the air.

A girl sighs in the distance,

going somewhere,

smiling occasionally,

scowling sometimes

at the cherry blossoms

or the green grass.

She looks at something

with hope and worry,

maybe about to lose something

or trying to discern

what she’s already lost

while moving as fast

and feeling as much as she did.

The childhood she painted pastel,

the light azure walls of her room

that used to match the spring sky,

faded pictures from 2010,

borrowed CDs and mp3s stacked in her room,

the stillness of a light sweat after school,

spring breeze on her back,

the empty sound of amusement park coins,

days spent on trampolines and gondolas,

first ice creams and strawberries—

“Clouds of warmth used to linger in the air

I would say hi to the neighborhood cat

and feed the apartment dog,

I would play hide and seek

when I wanted to disappear,

not seeing or being seen

for a fraction of my life

I would taste the joy

of being the only person alive,

the only person who knew of my existence,

I knew too much and too little at once.”

She put on her red coat,

and walked on her tippy toes

the wind erasing her steps,

she hugged her coat tightly:

Springs were now cold

and the days were blue.




The moon comes out of its shell

fuming with fears, Melpomene and Thalia

meet on the front façade of the Moonrise Kingdom,

where they can see the Earth

and all the wretched

gripping on the edge of the new moon,

swinging back and forth,

some fall and some migrate to Moonrise Kingdom,

others just grip onto the surface of the Earth

so tightly that

they do not see the new moon

until it’s too late,

and it fades into darkness.

Under candle-lit skies

the light air carries

the scent of late plum blossoms.

A candle lit in hopes of green,

Thalia watches the show,

the Earth holds its breath,

all silent–

A woman stands in the mid-darkness of a sunset

her life half-done, she smiles anew.

Her hair dances a colorful bourré,

life trickles down her gray coat,

the interminable warmth of her soul

trickles down her chest.

she unbuttons her shirt

and closes her eyes,

humming as she responds

to the ceaseless melody of

the blades of grass, the moist earth,

and the thin clouds.

Tears travel down her eyes,

leaving the world in a lilac dream,

leaving the forests mid-green and mid-alive,

breaking promises of our childhood,

breaking hearts of uncoated bodies

and bare souls.

You can smell spring in her warm breath,

you can smell the world awakening.

Imagine the sadness she must feel

while looking at the blossoms as

she loses her winter skin.

In the blink of an eye,

she grows blind to the habits of mind,

and to the steam that coats the blue skies,


of all that conceals the soul,

she regains her sight in a moment of immense pain:

the red coat and all that blues Melpo had whispered in her ear,

she sees before the sun sinks into the mountains

and before the melody shies away.

At that moment, seeing is all that matters.