Plagiarism

Plagiarism 

It is spring
and the cherry tree
outside my window
pushes out
green over green
again.

Its flowers
open as they did—
the first bloom
reissued.

The smell
reenters the room
without alteration.

Couples kiss
under its boughs,
their mouths moving
in the pattern
my parents
once dismissed.

The new life
I make
leans toward the shape
I carried
before the storm.

I will die
in the manner
the others did.