It was crater-like
the pothole,
hungry,
waiting on tires, stealthily,
around a sharp corner.
It swallowed up my front left tire and a
a good bit of my nerve.
These hollows and gaps
as familiar now as snow days and
22 degrees.
But just this morning I saw what looked
like a the hint of a blossom
on the slender branch of a tree.
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