Dripping

I am in love with melting,
enamored of thaw,
and besotted with storm drains that sound
like toilets endlessly running.
No matter how cruel, I long to see
the ancient snow undone,
the gutters rinsed by rills and rivulets,
and the slow creep of a quiet seep
across the market parking lot.
Dripping is the Spring.

March 30 2014

Ruination

A ruined world's all right to start with.
You can build with trash, you know?
Or on it, anyway,
and under all that wreckage
there may still be seeds that grow.

March 26 2015

Winter Locks

Winter locks up more than water, locks
people behind their doors,
locks laughter in your throat,
locks boats to shore.
Locks patience, leisure;
more:
locks eyes on frozen paths for pitfalls,
locks hearts on getting by,
and locks outside the sweetness that we seek,
the rest, the ease, the open space
where hearts can sing and minds can speak
the Spring.

March 18 2015

Not Seeking

The solution lies in not seeking it.
How many times must I be told?
As often as the day tells me otherwise.
It is an empty toll, a clangor of nothing,
but, oh, how it promises,
and oh, how loud.
I  can almost not hear
the silence underlying.

March 15 2015

Road Work

This road let go.
A thing of crumbs and fragments:
The frost that heaved it melted so
the cavity beneath lay vacant so
the next damn car could crush it so
goes springtime in New England.

March 12 2015

Drawing Lesson

Why does the sun have wheels,
I heard him ask. No, she said,
it's a taxi. Wait, I thought,
does she mean Apollo's chariot?
No, of course not; look,
they're just getting their snacks.
But still, I thought,
they might know more than they know.

March 3 2015