untitled

a souvenir.
this loss of a dream, leaving membranes
of ice
dropped like coins in a tin plate
thanks

small impression on the grass
backward holes
of displaced winters and
confused geese, who chew
the crunchy pellets of snow:
leftovers

new song for second eve

you can spot her by the yellow umbrella that shields
against the elements
upright held in her hands that have known
faces visited by tears

equanimity spread in her hair
joy ...

that the earthy scent of spring will remind you of her strength,
she dreams of soaring with the white-breast swallow returning from exile

she wears no silk sash but waters your lawn; shovels your driveway when you aren't looking

her daffodil shoots run deep from the
wellspring of Ephesians
where she traces her name over and over
again,
comforted by the permanence of the etching in the wood

Eve, looking toward Eden restored



vl, england