almost one touches

were we to take the pulse of rising sap
in the grey trees across the iron fence
in the small forest that is now spring-dense
we might escape from nature's trap
but find ourselves sprawled on her lap
unable at this time to make pretense
of being on any journey save one hence
to all those places far beyond the map
in this light the sharpness of the green
is simultaneous soothing and deep pain
we do not take the message for the thing
instead we take note of the morning scene
wonder when next we'll feel the gentle rain
and why the bird is suddenly on wing

at the end of april

little above but blue and the hot eye
a passing plane direction north-west
it's time to pause to sit and take rest
one needs relief from relentless sky
the tiny moths that in their terror fly
must see one as some truly horrid pest
disturbing calm with noize and zest
not here content to let old nature lie
hardly a breeze how easy to forget
the winter's woes and rain and cold
spring's passed by in a single witty blink
our rules are clear one's path is set
on rails that will not rust until they're old
meanwhile the watcher has to take a drink

not to mean but to be

in general we're enchanted by what's new
and seek to better what we may not change
believing that we should extend the range
of what belongs to us beneath the blue
canopy of day there's always desire to imbue
with fresher magic or alter and exchange
the familiar for the fancied and the strange
we do not think the old can ever be true
at the beginning when the world was ours
we did not know which avenues to take
for all was open and all seemed just as fair
no matter how we faced yet now our powers
lessen and the guides we had forsake
us to find another purpose yet still we care