WEBVTT

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And another wanting spring to
come poem, a more recent one.

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It's called "Not."

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"Sallow March, lips parted, and
houses show their dirty faces.

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Do we enjoy life?
life wonders out loud.

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With trepidation
we look at the sky

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and arch our curious spines.

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If cats howl in alleys
or cold ailanthus

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glares more cunningly
than hothouse flowers,

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we say that seasons
deepen our frugality.

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We give so little to
the rotting grass.

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The thinnest air delivers us
to name what we hold rounded

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in our hands.

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No marimbas here or sadness
passing like a barge.

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Can we say rebirth when
whole Pyrenees of silt

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are automatic and sublime?

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We list our possible endings--

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what's necessary when
the mood for spring

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strikes with insipid,
dire longing."

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