an orange flower growing out of a puddle of water

a blood diamond cuts the surface of the vinyl. In Vivaldi's spring, April is the cruelest of months. in the fleetingtorn-out tree stumps recur in the landscape. Deaths gathered, roots turned towards the sky.in the gaps raged by orange machines, tattered mosses, broken prayers. violetthe crocus pops out of the snow. from the earth you have come. on the branches of the birch, the strands of the icicles are fragmented.I sensed the sound of tree buds growing, the imprints of raindrops on the steps leading up to the heavens;vibration in broken violin strings.