first poem

1

As we’re on the road still,

dragging our heels, up–

hill,  and for all our toil

in the hot wind, and for all

the smart and discipline,

I’ll say this.

 

2

There’s something to be said

for a soft luxurious

bed in the first

spring of morning: the flies

affirm it, and violets, and birds

and the worm spilled.

 

3

I saw the black crows

circling the dawn even before

the sun tipped the leaves

of evergreens golden.

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