March 29, 2012

poem 107 of a poem a day for 2012

for the Love of Alice, too

the noon freight’s whistle
and the dried rose petals
that I scattered yesterday
on the bellies of the southerlies
are just reminders to me
that Love slips between
the schedule of things

it is not for me
to keep watch or wear one
for that matter, either
I am a March Hare
I dare the rabbit hole
again and again
calendars be damned
because Love always
gets in the portal
entrances, my friends

it is raining today
a slow seep of deep
the kind of bleed
out of Spring
that sings in whispers
the kind of bleed
out of Spring
that pops the green
more clearly under
the gray skies
that gauze-covers
the Sun today


1 comment:

  1. I hear rain, smell wet earth and hear the sough of new leaves stretching. Well done.