Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Cold May Morning


Sometimes it is cold
in Spring. That’s the thing
about the metamorphosis

from winter’s dormant kernel
to May’s vernal waking up:
breaking up, it splinters

into unexpectedness:
you cannot second-guess its
requisite conditions:

left with expectations born
of wistfulness, you hold onto
the cherished recollected

notions of another dawn,
another May – balmy
scented gentle day.

But this May morning’s gone
another way. It’s changed
the form. It isn’t warm.







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