Thursday, May 19, 2016

INSTEAD

Have you begun
to notice? You never see

any luminous
pearls of moon-
ripened rain any-

more—or smell the relaxing
musk of nighttime lilac after;

in the morning,
you never taste
so much as a trace

of the sun's eternally
benevolent combustion engine
at play on the lush dewy

skin of a raw
strawberry—

or hear the gleeful
tweet of clean
brown birds, still furrowing

their rounded able bodies
dry within their bowers.

They used to say—
it makes me

blush a little
to recall—something like:

"Spring is in the air,"
I think—but,

like all
such nonspecific

things,
now it's—

on the
internet.

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