White petals drift in endless swirls,
taken to the next landing,
Breeze lifts vagrant lips to blow her off,
to an open window,
where busy pots are ticking.
Left hand taps fill oak table,
running rounds while right clenches a drag.
Babe cries, bleary eyes drone,
wondering in absent years of lapse,
since she could see through tinder panes
that needed their spring scrubbing;
the petal flickers for a terse moment
as a lethargic white spot,
then vanishes off to next faded pane,
never looking back, as the world spins to stone.
Cherry blossoms dip into a covetous wishing well,
collecting change, one petal at a time