Fallen cherry blossoms
So thick on the ground
They feel slippery beneath my feet
Walking up hill with less than two blocks to go
I can’t help thinking she is looking down
Over a city that has never quite recovered
From what some old locals call
The war of northern aggression
She is no southern belle
And I’m no gentleman
Still we found ourselves there
In a southern city long since burned
Where the wind continues to carry a hint of ash
But it’s blossoms on the ground this time around
Scattering themselves over every street corner
Collecting at the foot of an ancient hotel
Across the street from her blank faced high rise
Its white tower reaches high into the sky
With a round clock face on every side
It is still beneath her
Perched on the 15th floor
Hopefully looking down at me
Walking upright, with quick feet
Having so many things to say
Full of fear that we are over