The city’s held in a
shiver of snow.
Two days back,
daffodils
bounced in a spring
wind;
now they are blasted
and black.
Venus and Mars unpair
on this crisp night
of a moon-thin,
silver dropped
behind lumps of cloud
heavy on
house tops:
we hold beneath weight,
resentment a yard
ahead,
all light out.
She moves beyond
our stand, rising and
dipping
with the year’s
jarred cycle,
missing the merging
of shoot and snow
and star
while the stretched
web quivers.
No comments:
Post a Comment