poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

Before You Ask


The most labile of seasons,

spring leaps aboard any shift of mood

extending, exaggerating

a desultory drizzle becomes a crashing downpour

a real headbanger

then long hours of steady rain

What does the grass know of spring;

that it has them, or they have it?

Not enough to ask, but enough

to reach up, out and down

for an unexpected surge of sun and water

Spring is what we make of it

a plastic mask of calling out.

If nothing – but we have – we imagine

trees would leaf, birds screech,

peck at our roof and outer walls

Not to ask 

but look

is to be found

to be as spring is

an untold anecdote

(A book of my poems, called Paper Birds, is due out next month from Unsolicited Press.

see https://www.unsolicitedpress.com/store/p326/paperbirdspoetry.html

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