Cigarette perched
between two fingers,
her free hand
pulling petals
one from one
after the next
and so on.
You all right?
I wanted to ask.
I never did ask.
From her I got,
a sigh,
or
another drag
from the cigarette.
The answer to
my not asked
question,
muted in
blue smoke.
So I left her there.
In the spring mud,
under crumpled petals
of shifting cherry
blossoms.
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