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What about spring?

Or the earth’s movement

Along the ecliptic?

Or autumn’s eyes on the

Southern Hemisphere?

Leaves burning into multifarious colors

Flowers blooming on apple, cherry, persimmon,

Trillium?

 

What about the ripening of fruit

And the tastes of winter?

And the roots of the

Evening primrose in the

Pan with wild greens and the

First leaves of spinach, kale,

Cilantro?

 

And the new moon in Aries

And the old moon before

It detached itself from the

Earth when plants and animals

Were but the same butterfly

As they moved across the face

Of the earth

As the corpses of memory

Precipitated into and out of form and

Water and fire, mercurial water,

Sulfuric fire stultified salt bodies

Into a gelatinous mass

That crossed the threshold

In its return to an idea?

 

And the light that sparkled on the lake today?

And the kingfisher that so swiftly plucked

The smallmouth from the frozen ripples of the still

Wind off the membrane between

Cosmos and terra?

 

I was there watching.

I was there with the hawkweed,

Winter cress, mayapple in bloom,

With the egret, the redtail, the Canada

Goose, northern red oak, paw paw,

The sycamore.

 

And I laid down in the

Sun and the wintery blast,

The burgeoning wild horses of spring riding

Slipshod over the

Rhythms of my

blood