A new day. Not a new life.
Not the same thing.
Our wild apple tree beside
the road is still here
opening again this year
a bit taller perhaps,
hanging over the asphalt,
one of the earliest
of fruit trees to blossom,
starting a new season
which wakens us all
to what’s coming,
another dance
with some of the same
music but slightly
different beat,
your face and mine
slightly older,
knowing each other
that bit more deeply
we salute another
morning with coffee
that feels new like silk.
