In mid April, for two short weeks

the Magnolia
breaks its blossoms over the deck

each of its eyes open wide
the fleshly creamery of
each unfolded bud
organic Mandela of intention 
grown from shadow, underworld.

One morning as we watch, enjoy
out of nowhere, after
twenty years of marriage  
you tell me you are empty

You do not know why, what it means
refuse to talk, cannot talk.

I cannot know
what this will mean for me

I have mistaken distance, stillness
for love. 

Like the Spring
this way of being has just arrived

born in deep black flowers
that spread themselves around us
move beyond us, into the house.

Photo by Sven Brandsma on Unsplash

Alan Hill

Alan Hill is the outgoing Poet Laureate of the small City of New Westminster in Western Canada. His next full collection of poetry 'In the Blood' is forthcoming.