The cherries.

You have never been invincible
But you hear them--

cherry blossoms, awake, in
Your sleep.

These are the last things
The Sun lets you see--

and it's not the way they are.

But you move, and everyone
Is moving,

Crowding the table by the valentines,
Spitting the first cherry pits
Into melting snow.

Happy, lips in duplicating bows, hands rose,
Spilling bowl upon bowl

Fetching a glint
When a dearest droplet
Is at hungry stake. You can't say goodnight,

But you want to say goodnight.