THE SOFT DISINTEGRATION

Cherry blossoms, or the brief obedience of beauty

They open all at once,
a pale conspiracy of skin,
petals thin as breath
stretched over the bones of air.

Too delicate to trust.

Pink, yes…
but not the kind that comforts.
This is the color of something
about to leave,
a blush held too long
before collapse.

They tremble on their stems,
small, uncertain mouths
unsure whether to speak
or fall.

I stand beneath them
and feel it,
that quiet loosening
the body knows
before it understands.

The branches cannot hold them.