*

SPRING, OR THE SOURCE WE NEVER SPEAK ABOUT

Nights waking
to rain and the sound
of thrushes, I know
you have not told her.
In dense ivy
is the smell of fox.
Somewhere dogwood
has begun to bloom,
and you have not
told her. Apple
blossoms. Hedgerows
into chartreuse leaf.
I think the world
continues in beauty
and she will never know.

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