A May(be) Day
1.
He said,
“Today…”
But it wasn’t that simple,
that primer kind
of day.
Not rippled; not reflective.
Had just a rooting adolescence,
like a pesky forsythia,
waiting out summer, from the clover,
where the wet wrens nibbled under unraveled shoulders.
2.
She said,
“Lookit. There is already a candle,
and more than one good deed.
Why write anything at all?
You need something mechanical to fix,
something that’s come apart.”
3.
“How about the broken spring of sense?”
(being second best at letting go
of the sum