Spring, and By Force

Spring

Pointing first to the rock bluffs, then the raptors thathovered there, and then to their eyes that—made forhunting—flashed like shattered quartz, pulled up wildfrom the sea, the fog having lifted, hours, centuries ago,Choose one, he said,         whispering almost; Choose quickly.As between forever, and the light now fallen. The willedsuspension of belief, say, versus the color of joy outrivalingwhoever’s best intentions. That’s how hard it was. Any wordsleft that had stood for something        still meaning, but in the waythat moss can mean: all winter; beneath the ice and snow.

By Force

Look—they’re turning: how gracefully each     moves, in the surprise of woundedness—and,where arrow meets flesh, the blood corsaging . . .

     Revelation, jackhammers, love, four hoovesin the dirt. How speechless, now. As if always     light must wed the dark, eventually, and the dark

mean silence. I disagree. Touch not the crown— Don’t touch me—