The Apple Tree

Speaking the Language of Love

Photo by Artur Łuczka on Unsplash

I knew I had to write about you;
my words are in the air
like your petals, drifting
down, each one a burning star,
a shadowed moon —
whose moon? Whose star are
you releasing into the wind? Has it
had time? It, too, will burn out,
slowly fading around its gray-pink
edges, separating from a sea
of blooms, like so many lotuses
spinning slowly on branches.