Upon a plangent bell arrives a Spring,
a verdant mind yet clouded and unclear,
as veinous shadows overhead recall
the weary convalescence of the year.
The sky a spartan-bare cerulean
may slow dispel the stasis and the fear,
and gloamings hyperboreal defy
the weary convalescence of the year.
A frigid shadow overpasses and
a warmth from dying twilight fast repairs
with all the resignation of the dead:
this weary convalescence of the year.
Upon a chill cadaver Spring presides—
and though the sun draws ever near,
these waning fragments of the dark resist
the weary convalescence of the year.
—April 9, 2009
Union Square, NY