Age of Blossom

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after DH Lawrence

even after winter’s iron,
a rain-slaked garden
blossom’s unquenchable heart

how a woman,
after the knife, finds
she is still herself

that the girl who walked
under spring-wet trees
is not yet lost

that the sap spurts
greenly under the bark

the trees in exile walk
but the same moon’s cream is balm

in an orchard of rusted swords
the blossoms surge and soothe

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