Blooming

Sarah V. Schweig

I and the Village

And when I lived in the tower

I rendered what I saw out below

with chalk on the bare stone wall. I resolved

to bring myself to the edge. I brought myself

to the edge. I turned around

and there was a man holding a fistful of flowers.

How could I reconcile him with the hunched figures

like dropped petals I pass each day among steel structures?

Here we are with the man holding a fistful of flowers,

running in circles again. I know it means nothing.

Nothing will save us! says the bare stone wall.

The Sparrows of Dust bathe in the dust.