Cherry Tree, at Dusk
The gales have, this past week,
been worse than at the equinox;
leaves spiralling, as though
caught in a thermal; the main bough
of next door’s sycamore crazily
overhanging. Through it all, amazingly,
the blossom has clung on:
each bloom, a tiny beacon.
from The Touch of Time: New and Selected Poems (Bloodaxe, 2014), © Stewart Conn 2014, used by permission of the author and the publisher.