Orienting

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JAY ROGOFF

Cold facts can drive you nuts, what’s what, when’s when,
late spring snow subverting what calendar
we keep beneath the garden’s amorous trees,
collecting swiftly round our feet and—fragrant?
Oh! it’s blossoms—smell their delirious drift.
And isn’t our love like that? Isn’t it
urgent as fragrant petals, cool, skin-soft,
fluttering down to pile up in our palms
but disappearing at a touch, huge flakes
melting as the sea embraces them?
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