March 29, 2013

the hares are marching, ever marching...

photo by Sarah Lawrence ©

blister on the handle

heavy stock pot
boiling time
thickening grease
marrying steel exhales
a frenzied, fingering
wanting the light spit
watching the wind
sitting through glass
watching people’s faces
as they walk on by
different ways the air
wears against how they breathe
March lions, prying open Suns
feeding on lambs
they always eat lamb
on Good Friday here
with roast pyres burning
rosemary, parsley and
sagacious thyme

the catching cup
flowering daylight
peels the outside first
crocuses, daffodils and
tiny yellow belled Forsythia
parasol tinder and flints
striking the kindling
when it warms

we surrender
to gravity
when our minds
are all invested
in what wades
the waiting
bellows preying
on the way things
seem to be
easy to see
how worn we are
when Winter
is still somewhat
of a wound
and Spring
is its fresh scar


1 comment:

  1. this is wonderful Edward, especially the last five lines...