When the trees bloom like flowers
the colours of dark custard,
new-drawn blood, lemon drops,
the fringes of flames, and those tight green cloaks
worn by the stoics who refuse to change,

treemendous

I see a garnet leaf with green blood running in its veins.
Another is half Golden Delicious, half gone.
And all the russets and dry earth
you kick through on the lawn
explode, evaporate into the ground.

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