The wind descended from the west
            To rattle the orchard trees.
Dogtags nailed to apples and plums
            Rang out like wine flutes struck
At the marriage table. The star-white blossoms
            Let go their limbs and laid themselves

As if for a funeral across the river,
            The gush of spring, the railing wind,
The ringing of the trees so loud,
            Not a one of us could make out
The nuthatches and cardinals who battled
            The wind to take their place
Among the stars
            And throat their song.

Read more Issue Fifteen | Poetry

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