Fake Blossoms in Northeast China
In the season reserved for cherry blossoms,
These delicate petals dawdling on the wind
Turn out to be mere blossoms of the mind.
Those conjurors, toying with expectations,
Are slivers of sleet that masquerade as blossoms,
Obscuring my ocean view through sleight of hand,
Then dancing on, each one a tiny wand
Waltzing in wizardry. My expectations
That April would bring a steady supply of spring
Are thwarted by chill winds accompanying
The cheating sleety slivers drifting on.
It is a frozen, wintery song they sing,
Delaying dreams of spring and whispering,
“You’re nearer to Siberia than Taiwan.”