APRIL 74

This was an angry spring.

Whims of March did not taper to April softness.

No slow spiral of seasons

stemmed the splatter of hailstones.

slow trees held their buds too long

As if afraid for their frail embryos.

Harsh residue of winter, the wind’s cutting

was sharp

slicing the hope of warmth

projected by a spasmodic sun.

Nature in restoring balance

will return her shining solace.