Spring is a contrivance —
in the city,
more a phraseology than something
you can see or feel.

A student's hand
becomes a crucible,
his finger an impromptu spoon
to stir this viscous English,

dextrously extract a sentence:
'Er, today the weather's warmer...
soon the rainy season
will begin, perhaps.'

Unburdened now, he smiles,
both palms relaxed
beneath the rigor mortis
of the plastic cherry blossom.