The wind blows your seeds
onto our roof and deck
and I even find pods on our pillows
which my daughter insists
are from a breed of fairies that shed their wings
yesterday was a blizzard
of your paper-brown hearts swirling down on us
as if God had upturned her crafting table in a huff
everyone’s talking about you
as they kick up your piles of whispery crisps
they say the drought is making you desperate
that you’re rushing to pass on your progeny
in case the rains never come
and so it is that nature
reminds us yet again
how we are one.
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