The False Spring

The first flowers after winter always die; you can see them, pale and crisp, still at the branch But the leaves have fluttered away.   Cold February and windy March dash the brief hope of loving warmth. The care of spring abandoned, Birds returned fly away again.   Somewhere along those days, the sun makes … More The False Spring


Clever eyes seek dust disturbed, for even forks of a twined tale happen, as they do, and kick up dust Which settles differently now, disturbed.   The pendulum swings from dust to dust; the grandfather clock is cleaned just before new calendars alight, Held between both ends: that is where we disembark and dust is … More Rebirth