Poetry

Magnolias

Magnolias

with flowers like five hands tied

by the wrists

the blackthorn covered with foam

smells of soap

Behind the smudged window

I see white mounds of plum-trees

In my dreams someone sweeps the petals

into big white mountains

Only don't let it go:

the moment the blossoms open,

as the sun rises between the boughs

and so,

every morning, gazing

at bunches of fragrant hands

I read the beginning of end

on rosy petals

in the red veins

Maria Kardel