walking out my front door
I’m assaulted by the awful stink
of thousands of mango blossoms
but oh what a miracle
when they morph into handfuls
then armfuls of ambrosia
as if a hangover
could turn into heaven
that you hold in your hand
or when the promise is spring
and its keeping is summer
leaving winter to serve
the dream of hope for those
impatient to awaken
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