springs effigy

 

 

 

Leaves suprise me, as they should,

trees i'm not so sure,

modiste as wind, as dress, as sky

fixed patterns as a blur.

 

A man is here, did you notice

his sanctimonious stir? Resembling

the crumbling old decorative place

 

the signal of the tune,

then cathes fire, turns to soil,

then shoots back at the moon

 

a gaze of moral excellence

as jonquil proximates

the righteous, guiltless, blessedness

that love exonerates,

 

the cotton moire finish which

untouched

sparkles night,

a passage, pouting significance

like virtue to the light.

 

Flowers devour me, as they should

but leaf i'm not so sure,

as moonstruck as I often am

as providence is pure,

 

you kept my ashes in a jar

as sanicle for the blood

as branching evergreens will tell

what springtime never could.