Spring Eqinox (sic), and: Grace

Spring Eqinox (sic)

Open one eye: it's dark. Again: less dark?
The calendar and clock think it's begun,
That now – right now! – our equinoctial sun
Is bulging, gleaming, piercing through the murk.

Somewhere beyond a pelting wall of water
The gold eye opens and the clocks tell true,
But here the dawn of Spring Two Thousand Two
Means thick dark sky, the eastern rim not brighter.

Tonight will be no longer than today.
Today I'd meant to put a brave face on it,
Get up, go out, invoke the rights of spring;

That was the plan. Things didn't work my way;
Not coral cloudscapes but a half-tone sonnet,
Not daybreak but a gradual lightening.

Grace

It comes when you're not looking. Has been there
Before you noticed. Blazes forth between
The hickory's new leaves, their tender green
Massy above you flopped into a chair,
Hot from the garden, with an aching back.
Two phoebes flit from tree to eave to tree
Feeding the tyrant nestlings you can't see –
You watch them labor, mind and body slack

– Then among bobbing boughs a flick of red!
Binoculars have leapt into your hand,
Swept the green shapes and fixed an active blur
That moves – moves – lights in focus as the wind
Pushes, and full sun strikes him breast and head.
It flares, it flames out. Scarlet tanager.