they come in handfuls,
haaaandfuuuulsssssssss
floating through, to ground.

pink floaters like
boaters sailing on winds….. whispering:
shhiiiiiiiiiifffffvvvvvvvvviiiiiii….

she winds her hands and arms
into snaking eights
snsnsnaking sleaking shifting
as if to drag up the wind and make it sing….

apple blossoms never find their way…..
never, ever, find their way back home………
not when the insistent breath of life
has carried them off and
folded up their wings……….