Now the applause is for saying the inevitable increasingly
querulous birdsong of the inevitable increasingly
wide stun of oh God.
Three short poems.
This little poem titled April, two or three people
asked me to read it.
I guess what they like about it is it's music because it's
a relatively simple poem that I don't understand quite.
It says Lord at the beginning of it yearly.
I don't have any religious feelings,
but I do know the secret name of God.
Only Julie Wilson and I know the secret name of God.
We were told this when my son was 3 and 1/2 years old,
and we took him for a ride out into the desert
with a friend of his who was about three years old
named Isaac.
And Isaac started talking about God being all around us.
And we said to him something like if God is all around us,
does that mean he's nature?
And he said no, God is Harris.
Harris you're.
April.
Lord yearly, I have not learned but meet that early spring
emptied again of heart.
I have bargained my love, for love
of what that first cold April day foretold.
In your arms is the exquisite pain.
It is your forehead leans, not mine.
And if I yearn, that is not anything.
For I have sent my loves away and taken to my loin
your first cold green and naked day.