I seem to have come to the end of something， but dont know what，Full moon blood orange just over the TOP of the redbud tree.
Maundy Thursday tomorrow，then Good Friday， then Easter in full drag，Dogwood blossoms like little crosses All down the street，lilies and jonquils bowing their mitred heads.
Perhaps its a sentimentality about such fey things，But I dont think so. One knows There is no end to the other world，no matter where it is.
In the event， a reliquary evening for sure，The bones in their tiny boxes， rosettes under glass.
Or maybe its just the way the snow fell a couple of days ago，So white on the white snowdrops.
As our fathers were bold to tell us，its either eat or be eaten.
Spring in its starched1 bib，Winters cutlery in its hands. Cold grace. Slice and fork
