I threw a handful of fallen cherry petals
in the river, and the wind scattered them

in dotted arcs of indecipherable calligraphy
like pale pink ebru on jade paper, or the vast

fingerprint of my Beloved stooping over
the Willamette and touching the water

sending ripples up the banks and making
all the seagulls rise up suddenly screaming

here, here

closer to me than the sprig of blossom
stuck in my hair.