Something not quite godly in
The spring–it looks a bit like sin.
It comes up through a certain root
That taps the underworld for fruit
Till swollen with forbidden life,
The garden Adam and his wife
Must answer for breaks open wide
And spills down through the countryside
Wild flower, fast licentious weed,
Lewd toadstool, and unbaptized reed.
A length of Satan stretches on
The flat rock to absorb the sun.
It rains–the earth begins to run
As though from something it has done.
Like princes fallen from their pomp,
Frogs hiccup in the drunken swamp.
Late-fallen snow begins to drag
A dissipated life of fog.
The winter woods become aware
Slow tree by tree that they are bare
And put on leaves, below whose dress
The west wind gropes their nakedness.
Around the bend of wayward roads,
The ambush of the carnal rose
Makes youth forget the way it came
And give its lust a holy name.
Lost Eve, so slim and smooth and tall,
I look down at your lovely sprawl
Where you have landed in the grass
And simply cannot let you pass.
From the porch light far above,
I am about to fall in love.
I think the Maker should recall
This season or rename it “Fall.”

–January 11, 1997

(“Spring” appeared in the Spring 2000 issue of The Lyric, Blacksburg VA.)

Published on October 12, 2006 at 2:36 pm  Leave a Comment  

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