Spring Song

“Every life            a word the wind turns to say.”

                                                - Tim Seibles

 

Wheels along, the sprite of the Sun

the noon-time eyesore day, our spirits

part and run, the nicks and cuts,

the chrome lids close us in, our spirits.

 

Giving up like this takes too much, says the Cold.

Will you not fall on your knees for me?

Waiting too long takes too much.                                     

I will not come again.

 

That’s the whole reason you are alive!

The summers end! The earth’s tilt!

You make it what it is: the dear day

clearly,          the earth’s faulty tilt.

 

All of this: the sunshine, the day,

all of it, the yellow cresting springness.

The sunlight unafraid; why should we be

afraid when the earth is bounding springness?

 

I am not the cruelest month! says April.

Sweet growth, the slightest precipitation!

I am your favorite lover, the one who comes

and goes, without an invitation.

 

If only I had no will! things might be much simpler,

            my eyelids lighter, lashes standing

quiet, my howl more appropriate, every eye

            brow less attentive, the heart handled,

 

every thing much simpler.

 

Demanding nothing,

even my thumbnail still

reflects the light:

a sign of God still riding the lines

between us,

coaching our bones

to form well

in their places, pro-

tecting even the smallest

berry that hangs

on the vine.

 

as long as it does,

 

all that I’m saying

is you should trust people.

 

When Winter is on retreat            trust

precious daylight without measure gives

herself to us, should we not haste

to do the same?

What kind of love is un-

conditional?

:

the end-less grace,

the will-

less earth.