it's all well green
it would seem &
down comes the sun
into my wintry lap
i see the first
girls with straps &
naked arms
gooseflushed as april
flesh in patterned
leaves
why when for so long
the dark clears to this
bell-clear morning
would my heart hang so
heavy in the
branches of that
budding space?
and in the sound of the crank
of summer &
dusting off of candlelight
