Member Poem

the cherry weeps pink blossoms
in April, takes me to footpaths
in Konroku-en, arched bridges
over ponds of tinseled koi,
to kimonos and bowed,
powdered necks, atonal songs
of longing, to rain, if rain
were scented sweet and clouds
were made of silk and love
was forever, and slipping
from my hand.