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 Akron after a Spring Rain The air comes clean, stone-scrubbed and rough, a sea air Without the salt. And the daffodils, Their color blunt as butter substitute, Bang their heads on the breeze— Even Wordsworth can’t ruin them for me now. Look around. Everything’s on the brink, or just beyond— Dogwoods wet in their dark bark; big drops Sliding from the fringe of evergreens; Saucer magnolia deep in its cups; A spasm of crabs, and maples sticky with foetal leaves. All down the walkway, the bricks glistening, the day Still chill enough to let me know This is April in the Midwest, I rub my tired sight Against the sway of tulips, redheads sultry in the sun. And then the rain again, racing over me, and gone— Blue in the sudden pools, a thin river Between my feet. The afternoon plays Good cop, bad cop, till I confess There’s something I love even in this slippery spring. ...

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