Soft Spring Evening

as the moonlight flushes the white plum-tree blossoms down the night-black bark arms like snowflakes softly landing on the calloused ground without a sound a mirror image of a petaled sky above filled with star blossoms and fragrance deep and high whirling around the moon cold and distant aloof yet pouring out its cold love like a symphony of softest flute and bassoon ah, the moon, the moon casting shadows black and deep as the blossoms go to sleep