previous | next

V. The Ungiving
And for a while, the darkness is new again,
the earth heavy with the ungiving spring.
Who will hear the gentle spats of rain
spit on earth and turn songs we’d forgotten to singing
hymns rooted to trees sweet
with the blood of pinioned fruit,
fruit hung from boughs, swinging
swollen and ripe, casually falling
beyond the view of this plain.