Monday, April 2, 2018

Confession and supplication...


Racing the weather, hoping

To get arugula sown before

The first April rain comes down,

Plodding along my tilted row,

Trying to wring out one solid alibi,

Or, at least, a few adequate excuses

Before the shrinking brain goes dark;

Thanks for this hopeful spring among

My rapidly depleting inventory

of seasoned potentialities;

Some pray for glorious resurrection,

I’m begging now a final modestly

Successful insurrection,

To rage praisefully in the face

Of fleeting particularity,

To scatter in my wake some words

Truer than I knew had found me.


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