For Spring

If you’ll forgive the expression, it’s been a pretty shitty winter, even here in the deep South where God dwells. Spring is on my mind . . .

For Spring

The dark underneath presses
upward in silence, a process
becoming never complete. Soft
drops seep inward, baptism of
hope, hum of life barely begun.

Breath-mist curls skyward
in yearning, daily eternal
mystery, death-life
repeated in signs and seasons
and days and years.

Naked notes trickle and blend,
unlearned symphony
played by slender hands. Speak.
Sing. And I saw that
it was very good.


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