Wednesday, May 4

Springtime

I left my coat on some
baker st. peg, ruffled by others
poking it sides

Abandoned, I will return
in autumn when the day draws
& cold slips in sleeves

but for now :the spring
wakens, gilding everything
after seven months

Here ,this cool sun I love
so But write me a letter ,winter
,telling me how you miss

my candles, my thick
bedsheets, my numb feet kick
rotten leaves

I will respond—‘I don’t
miss you so at all’you bastard,
not anymore

(The morning pavement
is morning’s present, all needed
& the sky sweetest of most).

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