Some mauve words, some beaded trees:
this part of spring overwhelms me,
each planted tree a comparison
done in seed pearls, a version
onto which strips of lilac felt are pressed
then held in place for a few seconds
above a generalized base—
as though created by someone skilled with a glue gun
& the types of detail I’m no good at.
I can’t compete: what I’ve done
stands toward the back of the courtyard near the church wall,
a few fuzzy words from several years ago.
That one of the words has turned a shade of ochre
that's hard to come by—that I’ve been trying to put my hands
         on for years—
purely by chance (plus exposure to a few
back-to-back winters) is most discouraging.