and now it sends down cotton balls of wonder
delightful puffs tipping off the ends of branches and
touching down on the puff-top of knit hats
this
reconciling itself to us
the recipients of a day-long argument
which had the sky spitting frozen bits of spittle all around our concrete
into the garden beds and across the long expanse of black topped transition
we hear you sky the story you needed to tell and the evidence of your fury
but a soft petal of billowing cotton will not have us turn our heads to your
wonder
not yet