May 27, 2013

Park in autumn explodes orange,

but here in May — the cusp of green — it eases

into its spring gulp like a glove. On the pew,

you a secular prayer inside the tunnel,

the arches framing scenes of dogs and soccer.

The wind takes note.


Welcome the peace, don’t swat it like a storm

or beast hacked back by torches. Allow a breeze.

Let the change drip easy on your shoulders —

the married brother, the parting of the clouds.

With winter chased away, drink heaven from a hose

and wash your face in the sun.


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