despite best intentions

I’ve been confusing the white blossoms
of spring with branches burdened
with snow. I remind myself this
is the season for change, not
hibernation, but still I cringe
when I glimpse your shadow
in her smile and translate the shape of those lips
into transactions made in my absence.

I’ve been mistaking petals
for snowflakes, but believe
me when I say I won’t misplace
the memories of this
singing bowl whose voice
reverberates through my
bones when it rests
in my hands, vibrations reminiscent
of a promise, a (com)promise that clings to
lungs like drops
of condensation.

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