Pomegranate Tree

the chaos of my being
is wind frost on stinging cheeks
freezing rain turned icy hail
beating the damp earth
for the tragedy of gravity

it’s warm summer air
thick and heavy
with intimacy
and words spoken
through fingertips alone

it’s wine stained lips
and heartache sighed
into just one more sip

and it’s spring born tulips
bright against the concrete dull
for as long the temperate breeze
sways the blooms into season once more
eternity is a game of cat’s cradle
and I am still
alive