It is April.

The leaves are coming in.

The grass is growing high.

Spring is learning what it is.

There is no cycle at work.

This has not happened before.

The plants have no memory.

Hornets inspect their buds

preparing new catalogs.

Every day someone new

sees you at the beginning,

wherever it is you begin.

In the yard, the garden.

On the side of the road.

You are remindful, you

who has no idea of

the long nights of winter,

who does not know itself

but is curious to know.

They say it’s beautiful.


R. Charboneau

 

Artwork: Vincent van Gogh – Park at the Asnieres in Spring (1887)

2 thoughts on “What It Is

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