for my friend, Amidha Porter
After the last cherry blossom has been torn by a cross wind
and carried where ever prayers go
the late blooming crabapple is fully open to the sky.
I am standing under her branches looking up through sturdy flowers
happy to see what I am becoming, satisfied to open and be
taken by the sky.
God has seven billion pairs of eyes, every one of them focused entirely on himself
but I love the human laughing on a cross
flying on a cross
whose voice is a flooded river, whose two eyes flecked with blood
are looking into mine.