April morning breaks with freezing snow
howls across the thawing fertile earth
curls around the seeds, splits them open
and in her paradoxical way she gives them d**h
as she binds in ice a hundred thousand tiny open coffins
And at noon I am dumb to find a reason for her sting.
April's afternoon stumbles across the yard
staggers in dripping fog between trees and shrubs
smothers the day in muffled voices--a vacuum of despair.
And I am dumb to find a twisted metaphor in anything.
April's late afternoon freezes and cracks bitter rocks
drives birds to hide deep inside the thickets.
And she, the cruelest of this day, lisps the mundane minutes
And I am dumb to still my enmity for this day.
April's evening holds my voice in la**itude
Drives my strength to its bottommost ebb
And I am dumb to find a poem this day
when even a simple nursery rhyme would do.
And I am dumb to break this stinging spell today!