No cats or children chase leaves —
caps and berets stay on each head.
Pollen won’t move, ‘cept by bees —
willows still weep, but cannot sway.
No outdoor chimes can ring now —
lest small children bring their sticks.
Windswept romances by the sea —
all end in novels — and in reality.
Solar winds won’t reach the earth —
so the northern lights disappear.
No dust storms, snow squalls occur —
curtains stand still, without breeze.
Old sailboats rot inside their slips —
or become planters, for spring tulips.
No more shopping lists, lost notes,
or faded photographs cross our paths.
Flags cannot ripple, only hang limp —
political pride, parades take a big hit.
Of course, all ascensions must cease —
no whirlwinds left to lift us — up.
Yet no one feels pushed, pulled along–
as one can’t lean into what’s not there.
. . . . .
14 april | Good Friday
Susan Powers Bourne