Cherry blossoms spill in the wind,

lift me off my feet,

in a frolic I may have only lived

as a child, before that tender age

when I noticed

more than the world at my feet,

and for a moment the reverie

is thick

under my soles.

I slip off my shoes,

grip my toes in the grass,

wet from earlier rains,

now the only suction I have

to this earth

swells to my ankles, pink

soupy floral mist, like quick sand,

or sugar rimmed cocktails

I can’t put down.

The scent is intoxicating,

its sweetness lures me

from any thoughts

demanding

of visions real and stern… and heavy.

I can’t lift my feet,

swirling pink petals

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