After That Spring

 

The white

weight of a

spring snow

broke branches

bent shoots

 

and all my

burning green

was suddenly

gone in what

seemed

a brutal

swipe.

 

All that I’d grown

to know

altered,

all that I’d learned

to love

covered

 

with an end

to a

beginning.

 

It was a snow that

closed my eyes

sealed my ears

made my mouth

unmovable.

 

How could I allow

something temporary

to be so

controlling?

I did not feel I knew

anything

after that

spring.