Corolla

The third man leaves
when the cherry blossoms
loosen, when the petals float
earthward burying the treefoot
with a down of pink snow

She is still dizzy
from the last high kick
from the last long spin

She eyes the drift
of blossoms from where she stands
in the middle of the bare floor
pulls splinters from her feet

speckles of blood line the circle
she makes remembering the rug
he took to keep himself warm

tomorrow she will sit on the curb
with her purse full of debt
and let the blossoms
cover her hair

The fourth man will
rescue her in a season
when even the moss is sleeping