absolute simple

ground down to dirt

winter sun bleached field grass

merest buff gold gone, waiting

wind sweeps the last of the seeds

to crannies

rain soon for the swelling

bright black clever eyes peep

from dark holes, hoping

the great architectural year

turns another quarter turn

tight figure within celestial minuet

mourning doves in the city soft matesong

naked in the bud fat trees

seek any ledge for the season

and love any love

seeks every heart sweet and raging

for the same reason

jjl

18 March 2008