This spring

Blossom from my windowlove on my laptop yet the pastlingers like a sour odourin the corridors of memory.Children easily made laycrucified in the mazeof your illness yoursubtle genius that tells us alljust how to be.This spring bringsno news of an acquittalonly inexorable life dancingin the stream of tomorrowYes, yesterday lingersblighting all it touchesyou rewrite our life in brailleI have no fingers to read youonly watch the blossom fadehoping for warmer times.