Delicate

As the precious remnants

Of a spring outburst,

acquiesce

Their eagerness returns

to the heart of the forest

As they become delicate,

before their disappearance

To become the woodwork

Their impermanence shimmers

Here for me, in patterns of ancient,

A return to my hearts knowing—

Of my acquiescence, my delicate

What beauty is painted

with my fleeting?

What eagerness returns

To my preciousness—

My one more day of becoming?