Snow in April
A Ghazal for Manadel al-Jamadi 
White presses green against the wall: brute snow in April.
Green is annexed; no black dirt, no roots: snow in April.
A ghost interrogates what’s hidden – its whiteness warps us all.
Nothing natural – all flowers being mute – under snow of April.
Gray fills the sky with itself, all foreign color smothered. What is solid disappears – inside the frost – a chute – snow in April.
Has my flock of flowers died? An ambush, a bullet-shot
of cold. Undone beneath the snow, what’s truth, in April?
The hawk-moth grows tipsy sipping nectar, hallucinates into walls:
Fragile datura opens – once – its parachute, in snow, in April.
It takes 4 days to break (a flower) – “16 hours of light & music & then
4 hours off.” But Veronica, what’s this – a single shoot? Ah, snow, but April.
Snow in April: