The cypress trees protect the wall from wind
that pushes with both arms. The dust, a sprite,
who whisks a layer on the table, tiles,
and bench, removes the leaves from beds where sprouts
are poking through the soil. She walks into
the grove, head bowed, hands folded, eyes inside
her thoughts and prays outloud at Hades’ door.
He slides the screen, absolves her sins, then slams
it closed again. With penance paid in full,
her daughter transports spring to earth. Amen.
Kim King © 2015