On the faintest of breezes
the glowing white cherry blossom
in my backyard garden,
final flower of spring,
quivers and breaks free,
twirls a time or two
descending on currents unseen.
It is perfect
only in that moment,
its ephemeral fall,
set free from the nurturing branch,
It lights upon the grass
where already the tips begin
to curl and brown,
soon to become the ground,
the tree,
then the branch,
and finally, once more,
next season’s blossom.