A Spring Without Any Flowers

I went to the cathedral but it was vacant.
Seraphim had all fled their stained glass windows
Waiting out the cataclysm until it was safe to return.
Systems of belief that lie 
Halfway between religion and mental illness
Comfort one’s desire for singularity.
The past and future are equally cavernous,
Equally certain as the induced hysteria
Of a plague that slithers around the globe.
I flap my butterfly wings as the dominoes begin to fall.
The sky comes crashing down
With a former vibrato that warbled notes
Like a confused bird hopping about the snow.
Time's viewfinders provide glimpses into fate,
Panes of glass separating kissing lips.
I wander through a jejune garden
And note the lack of crocuses and daffodils.
One day they will come,
But right now we are all sheltered from the storm
That pours tenuous rain wetting our hair,
Waiting for the skies to clear
So that birds and flowers may rejoice
In a postponed primaveral celebration after all.