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.

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