Issue 123, Summer 1992
The dew drops from the white magnolia tree, same as the last year.
She will stand by the window, calmer than in winter.
Caught by the scent of spring, she will bring stolen branches
to the room under the glass. She will smell a stone pine
which is not there. And then the squirrels will come.
They will stare at her. For an instant or two. She will move
from the window as if caught. She will light a cigarette.