Spring Comes Home
Spring comes home
in a dead dog's mask
old bones ask
for yesterday's rains
dust kneels to be made
tall wheat again;
clouds dry and pass
as the grackles grate,
too soon, too soon
and then, too late.
A dead-leaf kiss,
a lover's knot
tied in a corner
the wind forgot.
You lit my face
for a fire in snow;
we glowed for a time
before the blow
too late to come,
too soon to go.
Now there is
a falling light,
no home on the moon,
stark flares in the night,
war news at noon
a flash of flight
that breaks the gate;
and the grackles grate
too soon, too soon,
and then, too late.
~March 2017
at real toads
Image: The Enigma, 1871, by Gustave Dore Public domain.
