Printemps!

Spring Again

What is real and true
is right here in front of me:
Trees straight and reaching
Brown fields receding and reaching
Sprouted seeds, tubers and acorns
reaching
reaching
Me here reaching
for the promised Spring
Warm sun
Cool rains
Earth waking to the touch
of sun and rain
Faith enduring
The cycle rounding again
The moon of deer dropping horns
The moon of tender grass
The moons passing
one
after another
after another
Indifferent
to being noted
by me or
some (any) other
perishable being,
whether sitting
resolute
counting moons
or broken-hearted
wishing to dissolve
quarter by
quarter by
quarter
into the clear dark blue sky
with stars unidentified now
(Orion disappeared beyond the
sacred Western horizon
’til the next hunting moon)
disappeared
to where all is true and real
to where broken hearts
are just another
nebula
exploding
flashing
disappearing from the night
behind the trees
standing tall
branches outstretched
eager to embrace
the night
the constellations
(unnamable)
the moon in its every mood
quarter
half
quarter
gone
and tree frogs singing
(joyously)
(triumphantly)
“Who are you?”
“Where are you??”

2 April 2001