The Day Spring Came Early

Golden light sprawls from our feet

like the sun’s roots as we walk in the morning,

while the air is still rubbing sleep from its eyes

and blooming trees push out their leaves

to adjust to the undue brightness.

 

Seedlings of grass burst with joy

from our chest and laugh with us

as they break the permafrost

to spread sunlight through the soil.

 

Glory. O! Glorious exultation is the air

that fills our lungs: fresh cut grass glued

to the skin by sweet smelling sweat

spent for the glory of another.

 

O! how tumultuous is the song of selfless Spring;

sung by sparrows, beeches and our browning skin!

Sunset from the Window

I’ve never really seen the sun.

Walking between the concrete

prison bars we call buildings,

I’m occasionally struck by a beam.

But it’s only the

 

reflection

of a reflection

of another reflection

bounding from window to window

like a child wandering alone

in the produce section.

 

And maybe that’s what I am –

just a boy, like everyone tells me.

I’ve refused to believe it for years,

shouted at patronizing naysayers,

believing instead that I’m the only

adult in a child’s world. But this

is a concrete world – an adult’s world.

 

I must be a child, looking for fields,

flowers, trees to climb. Looking

for the sun to bathe me instead of city water.

Looking for more than reflections

 

of glory.