Tristesse

Approaching The Cup

Light falls.
You feed
Curtains grapes.

Lilacs, tulips,
Mutter what forgets.

Take me to the orchard.
I will charm the roots
With bare and vaulted feet
Where our wild childhoods
Have grown and splintered.
Their laughter still presses
Hard against my regret.

Take your hand from the windowpane.
Spring must come
With all her terrible flowers.