APRIL IS HER NAME

  

Across the patio

wheel eddies of white blossoms

from the Bradford Pears.

 

Hunched in the vinca

by the wind-shaken flagpole,

the female duck nests.

 

The petals’ fragrance

reeks like some decaying mole

a dog finds lovely.

 

The noon hour drifts

before the door in fragments

fallen from the sun.