It’s early spring in these woods,
bare trees like quiet old women
wearing little girls’ green things.
But in the cities, silence, and grief.
I want to lie down in ignorance,
deep in the not yet green grass,
bury my face in the cold unknowing dirt,
not seeing more than a foot or two,
that’s all I want to see.
I get down there just to look
and the brook flows on,
I can hear it, and overhead
long haul geese passing by
on their way north,
farther north than I imagine,
where spaces open out
in a different kind of quiet,
and even the small birds nearby
in the shifting trees
above the prayerful grass
sing on and on.
April 24, 2020