Tuesday, March 2, 2021

WHEN THE CITY IS CALM

When the city is calm, 
so is the truth.
And when the truth 

is apple-faced, 
snowsuited 
toddlers in the park,

crocus tips 
poked through dark frost-
stubbled mud, 

gutters thick with meltwater 
glinting in the sun—
the meaning 

is that word 
whose pronunciation is begun
in the act of observation

and ends in the
eyeless mind's access 
to perfection—dying winter 

on the page, as it is 
on the planet. This truth 
is the nature 

of composure itself: 
the situation plain, as it 
has to be.