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Peggy Aiello
DOGWOOD

She drives along the familiar stretch of road
as the tangled branches begin to reveal
their truth. March has arrived as a lamb

or did she sleep through the lion’s roar?
Perched precariously like snow
wisps on tips of branches —

as though a light breath of wind
might clear the bough of its illusion.
She passes and is reminded

of how deceivingly beautiful Dogwoods
can be as they peep their perfect snowy
flowers out from naked branches.