I was walking
on East Pender Street
where the street
was lined with cherry trees
on both sides.
The trees were heavy with cherry blossoms
and a big wind came up
and cherry blossoms
went flying everywhere.
It was a snowstorm
of cherry blossoms,
a blizzard from
one end of the block
to the other,
and I couldn’t see
anything but pink petals
swirling and falling,

swirling and falling.

“Holy month of May,” I said.

“Nothing is forever.”