Brick Wall

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.

What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.

What I thought was an injustice

turned out to be a color of the sky.


Outside the youth center, between the liquor store

and the police station,

a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;


overflowing with blossomfoam,

like a sudsy mug of beer;

like a bride ripping off her clothes,


dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,


so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.

It’s been doing that all week:

making beauty,

and throwing it away,

and making more.

From: Tony Hoagland's Poem "A Color of the Sky"