Spring.

Spring

At the end of the world—it didn’t,
and the world shook its head and said,
“What people were ever foolish enough
to mourn me while they were still alive?”
and shaking like the tall eucalyptus,
it threw back its head
and spread its arms like the great jacaranda,
snorting out tufts of blossoms.
And humming in the key of jasmine,
it carried on with the business of spring,
and even thickened the grass with clover
specifically for the backsides of lamenting sages.