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