There’s no way to turn off the days’ lengthening, no
way to stop the gnats gathering like dust against
the backdoor or the late moths stacked around the porch
light’s slanted shine. This is the season that loses
night, an outgrown black sleeve showing off a pallid
wrist. It arrives stinking of new weeds and frog spawn.
You can't resist the bob and blow of its standard
weathers, the breeze and shower that decorate its
branches with dogwood blossom, its sodden soil with
tulip and daffodil. Unpredictable
as trout, spring days won’t lie flat. They glisten and slide,
rise up, slap their tails on a planked dock and flip back,
slow to quit the pond’s thaw and sloppy ease.
Take in a lungful of the season. Undress for months.
From Fieralingue
