Saturday, May 17, 2008


A chickadee, all sleek in summer dress,
Lands on the feeder and the purple finch
Seems suddenly much larger, pushy, fat.
He darts off and returns; both fly away.
The feeder swings on, empty.
I confess
I love it all:
The birds, the sun, each inch

Of leaf unfolding in the sunlight,
rare yellow-green that flares up every May,
Then fades to mere dark green.
Brief, nonetheless
spring's crowning glory.

My old life in tatters,

My own leaves unfold, spread to the daylight;
I uncurl, dark winter left behind,
And sunshine enters, dazzling my mind.

Great Caesar's ghost!
[or as my grandmother used to say:
Thundering catfish!]
Am I my own metaphor?
That's a sorry state of affairs.

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