Sunday

It’s a dragon year

& the moon is edging full

illuminating mist over cobbled roof:

frozen river, slick, ‘n silver,

shadow of the willow pledges

‘Spring’, with her thin yellow hair

crying, as if to save the earth

from all our violent sin.

Hyacinth on my table

purple & fecund, as lilies fade

& I’m waiting for the ducks

to crack their eggs, exude

exuberant fluff to ease

my gloom.

What of you & I?

We’re silent like a missing sea

we’re constant like the rising sun

we’re invisible & like running water we

erode each other into new forms

as yet unnameable