Untitled #34

small willowtree, in full bloom
in a yard winter left cluttered, at the tail
end of april, locked in by the everyday
flowering as if inspired
a cloud
drifted down from the sky
is what you are like, with your yellow tinge, soft
as the touch of a hand
that has an exotic fragrance, all covered with bees
I was blind, not having seen you for so many years
till today
you opened
yourself to me, unexpectedly, in all
your beauty
a buzzing
cloud, grown
radiant in the immensity of spring
at this moment, your soul is
that close: shockingly clear