The Road

Trees without leaves, evidence of winters' long breath

and the  piano tapping clear sadness in the background.

Grayed out grease spots, cracked out pavement

a trail of empty bodies, lying on the side of the road.

 I hear the flute, singing with hollow sweetness

See a small tree with a spray of buds, 

notice green weeds growing in Spring's damp dirt. 

You wouldn’t think two poems like this could exist in the same day, could you? It’s the definition of bittersweet in a day, a life.