Page 72 - WTP Vol. V #5
P. 72
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Now and When Again
It springs here, now, betwixt and between the waxing lobes of the sugar maple’s quivering greens, proverbial blue air conjuring a scene (you’ve seen it),
an April of youth and plenty in the yard, horse shoes at the stake, steaks on the grill,
and the dead, living.
Spores of moss glitter, spun sugar over roots by the chain-link gate.
Like a sketch on a paper napkin you’re dog-eared at its edges.
This plane, that plane—this afternoon tripping over all the blooming clover.
