Monday, March 18, 2024


Even though we 
know that we know 

how soon, how 
benignly, how inexorably 
you'll arrive, 

still we turn 
our faces to the sky 

to gawk in surprise 
at your arrival,

as though it were 
the very first time—as though 

we did not know 
that we know 

how long we have 
languished here, stymied 
by the poem

and pining for days 
when the world 
would receive us 

into more than 
just a waiting room; 

when nothing 
would seem necessary 

except (perhaps) 

when the language 
of flowers 
would not just inform,

but truly overwhelm 
the flowers 
of language.