at first 

the Camilla tree

you never noticed blooming

sheds its leaves in a wind that springs back into a pre-pubescent winter

you enjoy the moment as if it never happened before

but you let it go

even if it will never happen again

 

if there is a next time

you ignore it

almost incapable of seeing it

fixated on:

ambition

desire

regret

panic

and many other things that are not falling blossoms

 

but it will bloom again 

and you will slow down

contemplate

over-intellectualize it 

and turn it in to a bad poem

 

and

 

if you are lucky

blossoming camilla

wind

raining delicate pink

could be spring