Spring in L.A.
Without a sound the bud begins to break
Through concrete walls, fissures of time and She
Who groans under the load. So small, a wee
Yellow between the cracks, a slight mistake
Against the tall buildings who rise in wake
Of spring. One glance is all it takes to see
The spot of color bleeding into sea -
A faceless human public mass of weight.
The broken petals line the dirty street
Silk fragments, paper trail confetti now
Swirls and dances, climbing into fresh air
Perfumed with gas and noise and something sweet
Sweet something to remind the barren bough
Of what its purpose is while hanging there.