welcoming, warm by Júlia Von Gersdorff

i.

april.

i am overwhelmed by the

cherry tree outside my window;

how can there be so much hope

in one body?

i write a haiku

mutter five-seven-five

a delicate branch

the flower blossoms, blossoms.

learns to see the sun.

ii.

two portraits, side by side,

a story threatens to tear

through the canvas.

hundreds of years ago, when i met you,

i knew what colour the night sky was,

twisted, a babbling graph

with no correlation, no causation.

knew my name by the

way you spoke it

aloud

your hands, light brushstrokes

and your coat, heavy. you

didn’t know wonder until you

held it in your arms,

gave it a name.