Sakura

The blossom is over,
No fruit to bare.
No cherry claims this street.
Reminder of impermanence...

Yellow bags of
refuse and debris
A memory
Of a winter,
struggled hard,
 now done...

Blue squares litter yards
Protect against a dieing world.

Flop, flop flop, sneakers hit the bricks
Hair blows, skirt drapes, she sits

On her bench,
Face placid,
Sun absorbed, car dark as night
Blares "His light shines down...."
Into a fade.

Into an abyss her stare
Her eyes, no hint of pain
Her soul bare, open,
Unrelenting...

Past her they run,
Children playing in the park
Whack! The ball flies.
A robin in its nest.

Waiting it seems
For what, not known...

Weathered green bench,
She sits, she waits.