The Law of Falling Bodies: Poems

Incantations of April

Incantations of April Still winter, and on the local station Two harvest tunes play out Their peasant arguments in the dark Chocolate of a cello, in the keyboard’s Rumble and pluck. So what If the radio’s late, four months Behind the weather? I’m already One season ahead, packing up The corduroy and the watch cap, The crow’s foot jacket in black wool. Already I’m sniffing the ravaged air For an odor of new earth, vaguely vaginal, Compost and loam where the seedlings Sink their roots. Already I’m turning Back from stars in their cold glow, and scouting For sunslicks on the lawn, for the pout of tulips, Long legs and a painted mouth. If the trees, bent and bare, look like A mind naked to its worst woes, What’s that to me? Moon-mad before it’s time, My mission’s not to stammer down the streets Like a salt truck, but to cast a spell On the calendar, in risky chants, in syllables Of slow elation, and call up on faith The random primitives of spring, taking it all As far as the eye can’t see. • • • 20 ...